The Great Reward

The final stages. When things become super clear. I’m spending a lot of time at dad’s bedside lately. Reminiscing. Yesterday because Robert Redford died, Dad wanted us to watch the airplane scene from Out of Africa. He laughs every time Redford’s character says he learned to fly yesterday. He tears up every time the two hold hands as they fly. Dad is a romantic.

He is also a very very successful man. He has been a remarkable farmer – won the award for top farmer – yes, not just in the state of Georgia. Often laughs about being the only Georgia Tech grad in the UGA Agriculture hall of fame. He’s past president of the American Soybean Association – they did a lot of the research that gave us soy ink and other soybean things in everyday products. When I interned in DC, I saw my dad testify in the Senate — to a Senate ag committee leader that didn’t like him. He held his own and spoke for farmers. He was a great leader, even if he did travel a lot that year.

Mom said she was going to buy a hen and two roosters — dad asked why – roosters don’t like each other. She quipped “so there’s one rooster at home when the other rooster decides to be gone 284 days out of the year.” Dad got the message. He stayed home for quite a while after that… (smile).

He is a great dad. Truly great. Always raised us girls to know we can do anything and we girls can cook for 150 and negotiate a business deal at the same time. It is who we are.

But he says so many things become clear in these final days. He wanted me to read to him Dover Beach – one of his favorite poems by Matthew Arnold, which ends like this…

“And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night.”

Dad says as he watches politics right now — that the last two lines are just the plain truth – that we are “swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, where ignorant armies clash by night.”

When the hospice nurses come over and he talks about himself – he has never once mentioned his awards, his accomplishments, his bank account or any other such measure that seems to be “so important” to people. What does he tell them?

“My children all moved home and raised their kids 3 miles from my house. I grew up going to my grandkids football games and basketball games and we have been a family. It has been a great ride.”

Out of all of the things he could talk about — he talks about family. We are his greatest accomplishment. His greatest reward. So here I am, a human breathing living award.

Pardon me if I don’t have things to say about so many things. The confused alarms of struggle and fight and the ignorant armies continue to clash at night – but right now, my Dad lies sleeping as I try to upload my tv/radio show. His snores sound like the most beautiful chorus of angels, much like those he’ll be hearing in a few hours, a few days, or a few weeks.

Meanwhile, my award sleeps waiting for his Great Reward. Nothing is more important today.

Epilogue – James Lee Adams, Jr is gone.

My precious dad passed away earlier this month. I’ll miss him for the rest of my life but not forever — I’ll be with him during that season. Our Congressman, Sanford Bishop entered into the Congressional Record a tribute that he read at Dad’s funeral. Interestingly, many people in our town of Camilla never knew all the things Dad did. Dad was that humble. And that great.

I wrote these words above as I was at his bedside, and I guess I forgot to post them, so I’ll post them now. So many things have been put on hold for these moments to happen. The podcast, the blog, the newsletter. All of it. Only one thing mattered—being there for my family and my Dad. (And don’t lecture me about em dashes — I’ve used them my whole time on this blog and I wrote this whole post myself.)

Being at Dad’s bedside doesn’t make me great, it makes me human. A human who has no regrets but a great sense of loss. I know it is not goodbye forever, but it hurts anyway.

I’m back at school and I gave myself a month and now I’m back posting and sharing. I appreciate those of you who knew and checked on me and for some of you who sent flowers. It has been a tough season but a meaningful one. I’m grateful to my principal who worked with me in order to let me be there. Time is short for all of us. We have a beginning date and an expiration date, and the dash in the middle is up to us and determines what comes after the final date on earth. It is important, and so is doing what we’re called to do.

I promised Dad I would tell the truth even when it is hard or unpopular. I feel some unpopular views coming particularly as it comes to our children and protecting them from technology. It is time we move and act. I think I want to be part of that. I think Dad would like me speaking up for the kids just as he spoke up to preserve wetlands in the 1990 farm bill. Speaking for those who can’t speak for themselves, particularly the children, is my heart.

Thanks for dropping by and reading my post. It is truly from my heart – my beating and broken heart but one full of gratitude for a good father, I don’t take my good fortune for granted and am grateful to be married to a good father as well. We need more of them. A great dad is truly a great reward.