The men in my life who are fathers are all doing a great job. My grandkids have all had the blessing of knowing that their dads love the Lord, love their wives, love their kids.
My dad wasn’t perfect. That’s ok. He was a man of his word, He loved my mom. He loved us. He didn’t always know how to show that. A man of The Great Generation, he was a stiff-upper -lip, no nonsense kind of person. You don’t whine. You do what needs to be done. If you don’t like it, you change it. If you can’t change it, you suck it up.
He softened as he grew older, and especially after his heart started going wonky on him. He was sick for ten years before he died. Serious stuff: Heart, aneurism, small strokes.
The last time I said goodbye to him was about six months before he died. I don’t know if he knew I was there at that moment, He was in and out of reality, partly due to pain meds. But we had some good conversations during the days we’d spent with him before we had to go back home, and I treasure those conversations today. Dad loved God. He loved the Bible. He loved his church, and the people loved him. “Preacher Fullmer” was a blessing to a lot of people.
I miss him still. He’d be 92 if he were alive. He’s ageless in heaven, rejoicing in the presence of the God he loved and served.