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We had a wonderful memorial service on Saturday for my father. I know that could be seen as an odd statement, but I cannot tell you how pleased I was with the way things went. My sister and I wrote up our thoughts and the minister read them out loud, various relatives and friends shared their memories, and the minister told stories about my father, who was also his friend. We cried, yes, but we also laughed many times, and I believe my father would have been pleased with his send-off.
My father had six years to consider his death. He gave a lot of thought to funerals and what he did and did not want at his. He consulted with his wife and children and considered our wishes too. He ultimately decided that he didn’t want a traditional service with doleful hymns and somber prayers. He lived 65 years and those were years that should be celebrated.
At the front of the chapel was a table on which there were two photos of my father and some items that represented different aspects of his life. What was most noticeable was the slightly battered old toolbox in the middle. It first belonged to my father’s grandfather and then it was my father’s. He took it with him everywhere — if he wasn’t using it at that moment, it was not too far away in the house and when he went places, the old toolbox went in the back of the car, just in case.
And that old toolbox was brought out for many “just in case” moments. In one memorable day, he visited some people who knew and noticed that their dishwasher wasn’t working properly, so he fixed it right then and there. After that, my parents went off to visit someone else and I’ll be damned if that household didn’t have the very same dishwasher issue that my father had just fixed a few hours earlier. So the old toolbox came out again that day.
When my stepmother was making arrangements with the funeral home last week, she was shown a selection of urns and other containers for holding my father’s ashes. Nothing seemed quite right to her, so she went home and started looking around the house. As she was wandering around, her eyes landed on the old toolbox, which had been used less and less in recent months as my father’s health declined and he spent more time confined to his bed. Cancer took away his strength and dexterity until he had neither at all. At that moment, she knew she’d found the perfect container, one that couldn’t possibly be better suited.
So while the old toolbox’s owner is gone, the toolbox is not going to sit unused in a corner. It will serve a new function, albeit one for which it was not intended originally but one for which it will be just right. We all know my father would be pleased with this — just as he’d have been pleased with his funeral. He got the service he wanted, although it wasn’t the traditional one that folks might have expected.
The lesson that I take from this is that we all can choose to follow the path before us or we can choose to create one that is better suited to our needs. This goes beyond planning a more personal funeral or keeping a loved one’s ashes in a beloved old toolbox. When something new in life is presented to you, think about if that’s what you really want or if there is another way that works for you.
Be brave.
Be bold.
Be fearless.
Choose your own toolbox.
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Oh Jen what a wonderful post!!! As I was reading this it reminded me of when my grandmother passed away (long ago- I was going into my senior year of high school). As we were at my grandmothers condo trying to find a dress for the funeral my mom came across some leopard nightwear. It was so typical of my grandmother that my mom decided to have her cremated in that. I love that my mom was willing to go with something that was so very in tune with how my grandmother was in life.
I know that things still have to be very raw for your right now but I really hope that the memories of your dad help carry you through. He had to be a pretty incredible guy to have had a daughter as wonderful as you!
Lovely. I think you did him proud.
Jen – I’m so sorry to hear about your dad, you make him sound like a wonderful man. That was a beautiful post.
Aw!! You made me all teary. I’ve been thinking of you all week. I remember going out to dinner with you and your dad with great fondness.
Beautiful. You have me tearing up on the train.
Wonderful post and wonderful sentiments. Beautiful, Jen.
Beautiful post! I also love the idea of the toolbox as an urn. Your dad would be so happy with the celebration of him. I once read a novel in which one of the main characters asked that instead of a funeral, her friends throw a huge party in celebration of her life. They did and felt it was so fitting for her. Likewise your funeral for your dad. And your interpretation of it is so beautifully written.
Jen, this is just beautiful.
What a way to start off on a Monday, just a little teary and yet full of excitement with the courage to move boldly into another week!
Oh Jen, This is so beautiful. The sentiment recalled my own father’s passing. It was so sweet, touching and thoughtful, I love the message. Thank you for sharing it and reminding me how life isn’t allways the way we want it or expect it should be but is somehow just right for us in the moment.
Blessings for peace to you and your family during this transition.
What a thoughtful tribute.
Damn it. My nose is red and my eyes are tearing up because of this.
I adore how you “got” your dad and how fitting a send off.
This is just beautiful, both as a tribute and as a lesson of what we can take away from your dad’s life and death.
What a wonderful post. So glad your dad had the sendoff he would have wanted. And it sounds like that old toolbox will serve its new purpose extremely well.
Missy
This is a beautiful tribute to him, and how much you loved him.
Cancer, my nemesis, rears its ugly head again.
Lovely post. So sorry for your loss.
Just lovely, Jen.
Perfect.
What a lovely tribute to your father.
I love it when life has a way of answering the hard questions for us.
Blessings and peace to you and your family.
Wonderful story. I still have an old toolbox of my Dad’s – it sits in the basement but whenever I walk by it, it reminds me of him
My dad always had his tool box in his trunk just in case when he went anywhere. And my mom still drives around with it in her car trunk 11 years later, she said it gives her comfort knowing it is there.
Your post was a beautiful tribute.
What a wonderful memory for you. I love it when it’s possible to share the life and not dwell on the loss. That toolbox will be in my memory forever, too.
Beautiful, Jen. ♥ Now I understand what you meant about the Susie Trees.
What a blessing that the minister was also your father’s friend. I’m sure that made the service even more meaningful.
Cancer is terrible, awful, and deserving of many bad names… but it also gives the gift of time to say goodbye and time to plan how you want to say those final goodbyes.
My mom was the queen of denial when it came to her own death and yet I did have the honor of going over her desires for her future memorial service a few months before she died. It was a blessing that she had made those choices and we could honor her by following many of them.
Jen, you so beautifully convey some important things about your dad and what he valued. I learned a lot about him reading this post, and about you. Thank you.
Amen.
This is such a beautiful way to remember your father. What a great symbol of him, a toolbox, that served so much to help others.
Sometimes it’s the little, utilitarian things that make a loved one’s memory live so vividly. I have some family china and crystal, but one of the “heirlooms” I cherish more than anything is a battered old aluminum colander that my Great-Aunt Hattie gave my mom and dad to outfit their kitchen when they married in the late ’40s. It was a hand-me-down from her, so it must date from the 1920s at least. I think of my parents’ marriage whenever I use it – their whirlwind romance, their lives as two impoverished graduate students – my dad’s complicated relationship with his family.
So sorry for your loss, Jen, although it sounds like your strength will carry you and your family through the grief.
Beautiful. Just lovely. What a thoughtful remembrance of your dad, Jen. He would have been so proud to have read this.
I am so happy the memorial was an uplifting event–I think that’s what we all hope for.
I’m sorry you lost your father so soon, but I’m glad you loved him so much.
Jen, this is a beautiful tribute. I’m glad you were able to send your father off with laughter and memories.
I’m sorry to hear about your Dad, Jen. Ahhh, the toolbox.
The perfect use for his toolbox. When my M-I-L’s second husband died, she placed his ashes in his leather briefcase until the time felt right to scatter them. That briefcase had a lot of history for him. I’m sure much of it was classified, as he spent some time with the CIA. At my great-nephew’s untimely early service, his bike had a prominent place.
I’m glad that your father had the time to plan what he wanted.