Thoughts on losing my other dad

I wanted to attempt to put words together to help me heal; to help my brain and heart intersect at this tragedy that unfortunately is reality.

Jack Fabris is the father of my wife. When I met him six and a half years ago he immediately went into my phone under the contact 'Papa Jack.' We played golf every Friday, I expected that to be awkward, but it wasn't.  He would tell our various golfing companions that I was dating his daughter, later he would tell them that I married his daughter, later still he would tell them that I was the father of his grandchildren.  Eight months ago black mold displaced us from our home and my wife Rachel's health was in bad shape. The cluster if symptoms kept changing and sending her health into a downward spiral and till we discovered the mold. Jack had us move in that very night, an we are still here.

He watched the girls the day my grandfather died, the girls were there for him eleven days later when his dad died.  I joked that I was, "living the dream- every guy secretly wanted to live with his in laws."  But somehow it worked.  Jack did things his way, the way he had always done them, and once I swallowed my pride, I started to learn his ways, his systems of how to do things.  And they worked. His marriage worked: Thirty years plus, he was happy, and he loved those closes to him with no holding back.

He reminded Chloe and Kaydee daily that they were "his girls." He watched them or co-watched them at least for part of the day, every day since we moved in. He would check on Chloe on his way to bed every night and Chloe would always ask for us to "send Pa Pa up" when we tucked her in.  The day before he died, he took Chloe on a date to McDonald's for ice cream, and Fry's for more Christmas lights. 

Earlier that fateful day, we cleaned his pool filters together and straightened up the Livingroom.  Two women and their daughters knocked on the door while I was vacuuming and Jack answered the door. They asked him if he wanted a Bible reading and a tract, he answered, "my son-in-law here is a minister so we're good, we've got it covered." It's unbelievable how much that conversation at the front door has helped me heal. We left for the Tempe Lights parade at 4, around 5 he passed away as a result to head trauma in an accident involving his motorcycle.

I'm often the one on the other side of grief, the one like you, wishing you had the magic words to make the person hurting feel better. I always hated it because I never really knew how it felt, I had never lost anyone tragically, or at all as a matter of fact before these last few years.  And now it has happened.  

And I asked God why?!  Why now, why him? Why does my three year old have to know so well what it means when someone dies. Why does my wife have to be without her daddy?

But quickly, I can't forget to thank God: thank you for his life, thank you for how he loved us, thank you for the memories, thank you that we were able to live our relationships with Christ in front of him day in and day out.

I still don't know why God allows things like this to happen, but I understand one thing a lot better now: peace.  I feel overwhelmed by peace- knowing that it was his time to go home, peace that God still has a plan in all of this, peace that this isn't the end, peace that doesn't make sense, and peace that I can't get away from even when I want to. It really does transcend all understanding. And when the waves of grief and sadness flood over, the peace pushes it away and we remain standing. 

God, I praise you in this storm, and I won't even try to steer through this one. Guide us through to the other side. 

I lost my other dad this week. He loved me like a son, and I him like a father.

Jack Fabris

June 30, 1951- November 24, 2012