I realize that I’m probably going to follow my typical pattern of making a few posts to my blog every once in a while and then forget about it for months as I usually do. I really hope that’s not the case.
On August 31, 2011, my father, C. Edward Clark passed away in Salem, Virginia. Dad and I hadn’t been close for years and the last time I went to see him, dementia was really beginning to set in. But even with those facts, it was an emotional time. Tammy tried to call, but I was in a meeting so I didn’t answer the phone. She then texted me that he had died, so I called and we drove up to Virginia.
That night, before we left, I was feeling a very strange combination of sadness and melancholy. I felt like I should be more upset and sad than I was, though, because it didn’t really seem to impact me. After driving all night (we left at 7pm CDT and arrived in Waynesboro at 5AM EDT the next morning) and only getting 2 or so hours of sleep before meeting at the funeral home, I was still in a bit of a haze. We met with a great funeral director who was very kind, helpful and loving. Luckily, most of the plans had already been taken care of with his lawyer and Tammy years ago, but even so, it took 4 hours or so to finalize the plans.
I was able to call the Bishop of the Waynesboro Ward and get him to request some brethren to help me dress Dad. Steve Sweeney, Frank Willoughby and Jarrett Gold all showed up at the funeral home and assisted me in getting Dad dressed. I took a few minutes to say some goodbyes to his mortal body, and to remind him that he was now ready to be resurrected. As we were dressing him, I had the realization that the last time I had seen him in his temple clothing was when he had attended with me as I received my own endowments at the Washington DC temple in 1995 before I went on my mission. This caused the tears to flow, as it reminded me of one of a number of good things that my father did for me.
I was able to assist Tammy with his eulogy, an exercise that was healing for us both. I was then able to dedicate his grave, and we had a wonderful talk from Ron Fauver at the gravesite. As per Dad’s requests, there was no public viewing, and there was no funeral service; he simply wanted a graveside service. After seeing the grief that it caused my aunts and uncle, it helped me to realize that the funeral and visitation aren’t for the deceased, they’re for the survivors. I know that’s an obvious thing, but it had never really hit me. Finally, as per our agreement, Tammy presented the flag to Owen, because of their shared birthday, and because of the fact that he is the only member of his generation to remember Dad. Owen was overcome and broke down in tears, which inspired Zoni and I to do the same. It’s a moment I think none of us will ever forget.
Since his burial, I’ve had a number of times where emotions overcame me. I think this is part of how I’ve been dealing with his death. I am eternally grateful for the plan of salvation and the comfort that the knowledge of the temporary nature of death brings. I have always been able to handle death well, and this was just another example of that.
Moreso, I’m grateful for the people of the Waynesboro Ward. It was so very humbling to have the assistance of those brethren in dressing my father. It was an enjoyable (though awkward, to be sure) experience because of their attitudes and their spirit. Going home and having them there to help truly felt like I was returning to my extended family. I guess, in many ways, I was. As I bore my testimony yesterday in our home White House Ward, I was overcome by the realization that our children will do the same one day with the White House Ward. Their Steve Sweeney or Frank Willoughby or Jarrett Gold will come from the people they’re growing up with now. What a pleasant blessing they are in our lives.
I was also so impressed by my mother. Though she and Dad divorced some 20 years ago, I know that she has always cared for him, which is just amazing considering the abuse that she suffered mentally from him. She was upset and emotional, but as always, she was a support for Tammy and I and stayed strong for us.
As I was copying posts over from previous blogs, I came across the open letter I wrote to my father. If they have internet on the other side, perhaps he’s able to read it. Just as it was therapeutic then for me to write out my feelings, it has been therapeutic now to do the same. Death is only temporary. My father, who was racked for many years by Multiple Sclerosis, which led to his inability to even think straight, is now free of this mortal coil and can exercise his spirit in ways he hasn’t been able to for years. He was welcomed home by his mother and father and by his brother and sister who passed on before him. He is now hard at work, I’m sure, spreading the gospel of peace and repentance. As I have reflected on my memories of him, it has helped me realize how much I wish I had his journals. Perhaps, this will serve as an impetus for me to continue writing my thoughts, so my children can know how special they are to me.