I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS…

 You will quickly notice this post has nothing to do with the job search process, job markets, or the factors that influence them.  This special post is my attempt to express my grief, and yes joy, in my father’s (Jack Walton Wiles) life and passing.  Unless I do, I feel any other attempts by me to be effective here will be for naught.           

A Special Christmas Post

             As some of you may, or may not, know I lost my father Jack Walton Wiles, in June 2010.  Fortunately, his passing was not prolonged or excessively painful.  I believe by his shear strength of character he managed to stay alive so we could share one last Father’s Day with him.

            And share it we did.  My most sincere gratitude goes to the staff and volunteers of Clarehouse in Tulsa, OK for that.  Clarehouse is a haven for those in their last days of life, along with their loved ones.  It provides a place where the dying may do so with comfort, peace and dignity and where families can focus totally on their loved one, and nothing else.  I can truly say I could not have hoped for my father’s passing to have come in a more beautiful place, or one that spoke more of him and his meaning to me.

              Jack Walton Wiles (dad, daddy, my old man, Uncle Jack, or just plain Jack) was a man known to many.  Even his passing reminded me of that fact.  I was amazed at the sheer volume of handshakes, greetings and hugs I received both before and after the Memorial service.  I met people from his and my past who were like mythological beings to me from the stories Dad told of them.  Moreover, in this present situation, I learned Dad had not exaggerated one iota in his telling of those tales.  His truly was the Greatest Generation.

            This morning I attended a special Christmas program based around the story of the Prodigal Son.  Sitting in the midst of the worship, I remember when I was the prodigal with my own father.  I can bear witness that as with any true father, my Dad did not hold up to me my faults and mistakes   Rather, he ran to greet me, to kiss me and gather me in his arms when I came to my senses and returned home.  I could not stay dry eyed at the memory.

            Speaking of tears, there are a lot of them right now.  I shed tears of missing him for sure.  However, much more so, I shed tears of joy at the memories of so many Christmases past with Dad.  There are memories of trips taken to cities and places far away,  often to be with my mother’s family, not his own.  There are also precious memories of Christmas with his mother – and learning of simple faith at her knee.  I remember watching him learn to snow ski on a Virginia mountainside when in his 50’s.  So perhaps I will take skiing up again, “they” say it is never too late.  I joyfully remembered “wild game” dinners where the fruits of his and others efforts as bird hunters took center stage.  This list can go on and on, and the memories still do for me.

            The point is, there are tears, but they are mostly tears of happy remembrances, and some of grief.  So if you see me on the street, in the aisle, or the hallway and detect there a look of sadness, or a tear, please remember Jack Walton Wiles, my father-my Dad.  Moreover, understand those tears are a mark of honor for man who had touched many, influenced more, and been a loving father and husband.  Do that and you will be honoring me as well. 

            Oh, and another thing, this too will pass.  Grief, like all of our other human emotions is but for a moment.  It is the memories that last forever.  If you have a memory of Jack W. Wiles, feel free to post it as a Comment to this blog.

If anyone is looking for an end of year place to make a charitable gift, let me encourage you to consider Clarehouse.  Their operations are supported 100% by charitable giving.  They charge those blessed by their services and facilities, nothing for that blessing.  You gift to them in memory of Jack W. Wiles would be most appreciated.  Click here to learn more about supporting Clarehouse.