My dad was awesome. The most noble, kind, intelligent and gentle man I ever knew, he was always on my side and always fully believed that I will find my way. He always made that clear, and even though he hasn’t been around for a while, his absence obvious in everything. Many would think of this as a bad thing, however I see it as a constant reminder of what I need to become. It became obvious to me one day while walking to Pedro’s Tacos with Justine that she doesn’t have a dad and nor do I. I have never had such a surreal realization in my life. My dad is dead and nothing can replace him. Of course I am thankful for all the friendships that have been formed over the past two years and all the support our family has gotten, but I have been left with a unshakeable feeling that there is something missing. I know that my dad believed in me so I hope I can be one tenth of what he was.
“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.” Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
This was a quote that our chaplain Derek offered up as he spoke about Vernon the other night. I keep thinking about it, as well as the other wonderful things that were shared about Vernon’s life. I’m sure I’ll add more derails in later posts, as photos come in, but for now, I want to say thank you to everyone who helped pull it together in such a short amount of time. It was a magical night: celebration of our anniversary was not lost in the memorial. The garden was filled with lights just like it had been for our wedding ten years ago. Wonderful music was played, meaningful things were said. The children seemed happy to be involved, and listened closely to every word directed toward them, for there was much to be said about his love for them.
Here is an except from a letter that Vernon’s eloquent mother wrote about him last week:
“Our dearest Vernon has passed to a life without pain, dialysis, feeding tubes, parched throat and not always remembering what he wanted to say or how to express himself and many things besides.. Oh the frustration he must have suffered for these past two and a quarter years spent, either in bed, or in a wheelchair. It was no life, especially for a man who cycled as much as he possible could and loved to feel the wind, rain and sun on his face. Now he will not only walk, but have the power to fly. From a tiny boy of three years old, he would draw flying objects and cities unknown to us, his parents. This continued until he was about seven and school sports took over. When we had questioned him about his drawings he said that the cities were in the sky a long long way away. He always believed that if humans didn’t respect our World we would destroy it and we would have nowhere to go. Today, the World Leaders are looking to other Galaxies for new planets that could sustain human life. As a tiny boy Vernon was way before his time. Now he is free to fly amongst the stars and find the places that his drawings depicted. He has important work to do in his new life and we respect this. Words cannot express how difficult it will be for all of us, his much loved family, to continue in a life without him, As Vernon’s parents we gave him life, but we never owned him. As parents we must always respect that our children are placed in our care to help them develop in the best possible way, but they are only on loan to us, and we must always let them go to fulfill their destiny.”
2016, what a year, David Bowie AND Vernon Adams. Not to mention a plethora of other people who were awesome their short time on Earth. How privileged we were to have you while we did.
Vanessa, Vernon’s only sister, has been in town since Thursday, thrown right into the loving chaos of friendships and planning our event. Of course everyone wants to meet “Vernon’s sister.” It’s been very special time with her, and I’m sure she can see a lot of her teenaged brother in his son. Vernon’s parents were unable to make it out due to health issues.
Last night, my dad gathered the family around for a time of personal sharing after dinner. This kind of thing happens in our family on the rare times we can together. I imagine it’s a little overwhelming for newcomers, but Vernon always appreciated that time, despite English Reserve. I remember the first time he got thrown into the thick of it—my big loud family; we had just started dating. Anyway, everyone was asked to share a little something about Vernon last night. It was lovely to hear what they had to say, how they remembered him. I hope it was nice for Vanessa to hear these things too.
(Vanessa found Vernon’s old British Rail card, circa 1987. He would have been 20. Look at that baby face!)
This is what happens when someone dies. They become larger than life. Or maybe their whole life really was that large, but since each person has their own relationship to the person, we could only see them in limited dimensions, through our own lens of experience, not anyone else’s. It’s as if a life blooms all over again after death, right in front of the eyes of the living. Like a massive chrysanthemum bloom, it opens up from the center of the person who has passed, each curling petal a different life, a different story reflected in the memory of each person who every cared about him. Maybe that’s another reason these flowers are often seen at funerals and gravesides.
The truth is, I only knew him for a 11 years of his life. I married him inside the next year, when he was almost 40 and I had just turned 35. So even though I’m the one planning his memorial services, the one narrating the post-injury Vernon’s story over the past two years on this blog, it’s only a part of his life I can represent, that I can even relate with. I think it was a very special part, but I only had him for 1/5 of his entire life. It’s been wonderful to hear stories from his old class mates and colleagues, sometimes people I had never even heard about before. And so he blooms a little more.
(Vernon and other family members, listening to various stories about my grandfather at his own memorial a few years ago.)
Like the scene in the wonderful film Waking Ned Devine, I like to imagine the person being honored by the words of his friends is sitting in the front row of his own funeral, hearing things that perhaps he never heard before. If we were each in the habit of honoring each other with our words while they were still with us, I imagine we would go through life feeling like more complete versions of ourselves….and we’d see others like that too. Here’s a quote from the film. I invite you to fill in the blanks with the name of a dear living friend of your own.
“______ was my great friend. But I don’t ever remember telling him that. The words that are spoken at a funeral are spoken too late for the man who is dead. What a wonderful thing it would be to visit your own funeral. To sit at the front and hear what was said, maybe say a few things yourself. ______ and I grew old together. But at times, when we laughed, we grew young. If he was here now, if he could hear what I say, I’d congratulate him on being a great man, and thank him for being a friend.”
“Now we see but a dim reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” —1 Corinthians 13:12
“Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man.” — Rabindranath Tagore
Justine saw me sitting by myself this morning as we were preparing the garden for our upcoming party. She started telling me the most beautiful words of comfort from her six year old heart. “Do you mind if you start over so I can record it,” I asked before she got far. I’m glad I did. Here is her message of love:
We just found these pictures half a life ago, on her third birthday.
As a family, I think we are trying to consolidate the Vernon we knew over the past two and a half years to the Vernon we had as a father before that. We have already grieved so much of our loss. But now that it’s the “season of remembrance,” its been interesting to think about the man he was before that. It’s a strange time. I feel like we must say goodbye to two different men, almost. Photographs help make sense of things.
I’m so glad that my sister in law Nicole took these pictures of us three years ago in the house we lived in at the time.
I’ve been looking so long at these pictures of you That I almost believe that they’re real I’ve been living so long with my pictures of you That I almost believe that the pictures Are all I can feel — Robert Smith, The Cure
A special cover of Vernon's fav song 'Waterloo Sunset' by friend and singer/song-writer Ian McGlynn. All proceeds support Vernon's recovery! Donate what you can and download a beautiful song in return.
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