Taking pictures has never really been a thing for us. We sit in the moment, enjoy the people around us with laughs and tears, and make the most of the moment.
This is the last picture my father and I took together, unplanned and unscripted, but as I sit and reflect, it's almost all I have left. My mother paused us before entering the house and demanded we take a picture. We laughed and obliged and held our heads up toward the camera. 1, 2, 3, click. The moment is clear in my mind: We had just returned from church, and because he was in some pain, he slated me to preach in his stead. Honestly, I think he could've preached that day, but he made me do it because I was there. It was always an honor to preach with my dad in the audience. Something about hearing his amen, his grunt, seeing him stand to his feet and clap his hands that made preaching easy. I don't remember what I preached on that day, but I do remember we were together. On the way home, we rode past the cemetery where we would lay him a few weeks later and put him to rest. I didn't even bat an eye at the thought that you would be gone.
From a young age, my father instilled a foundation we can confidently stand on today. He challenged us to read and write, and when we couldn't read, he read to us. He was a well of knowledge that we could draw from at any time of the day. He never imposed his thoughts or ideas but welcomed a good conversation, discussing anything and everything. He was my friend.
This post isn't too much about some unseen object lesson, but simply saying I miss my dad. When my grandfather, Leonard Bulgin, passed away, my father was my age today. Now, I begin the journey of life without a father, just like my father did in his late thirties. Yes, he gave me everything, but I still feel he had more to offer this world. Over the past year, my father regularly shared his heart with me over the phone or more intimately as I sat at his bedside. He would always find a way to share the words his father gave to him before his passing, "Hold up your head." He wanted me to be proud of who I was. He wanted me to be everything he was and more. He wanted me never to shrink to accommodate small-minded people. He wanted me to hold up my head.
As my mom snapped the last photographs of us that day, it framed all my dad told me. Look straight ahead, don't be distracted by what's happening around you. Stand tall; you were built for this and strong enough to carry the loads life sends your way. Get closer, find the people that love you unconditionally, and stay connected. Smile, life is too short not to find joy in each moment.
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