Spiffers is gone

Sometime ago I imagined my father in heaven minding his own business when all of the sudden spiffers came along side my father. In my thoughts, I envisioned my father scooping up the doggy into his arms and holding him tight. I see the dog happy, with his mouth open and his tongue partially hanging out. The dog is happy. My father is happy.

In honor of spiffer ... an ode I give:

You came to us unwanted, you had no where to live
Your previous owners abandoned you, we took you in

From day one you took ownership of the house, peeing was your game
The corners of the carpet were no longer the same

You pranced and strutted around, strutting your youthful appearance
Jinglin', jinglin' from both the collar in the front and your manhood in the back

You were an aggressive teen, one who loved the ladies and disliked the men
The day came when you bit your owner in the face and so that became your demise

A few days latter you encountered your new self

A jinglin', jinglin' was now merely from the front, your manhood became a memory, a story of disgrace

You have departed from our presence, hopefully to soon be seen again
Your death was not natural, we submitted your forcefully into the bitter end

We dug a hole in that back yard deep enough to keep you from becoming food
we stood around your grave thinking of you

We search for a box but none could be found
we settle for a plastic bin which keeps you in the ground

We said a prayer of thankfulness and hope
that one day soon we should soon hear you again

But until that day, we will for now just think of you, our dear ol' sweet, crotchety friend

Life in the past month

So much has happened...that seems to be an understatement.

It's 7:40 p.m., it's a Friday and I am at work. This has been typical...the scenario has been the same over the last week and will only become a permanent facect for a while.

My Father died 38 days ago. I long for him. In my head, I vividly remember seeing him on his death bed. He looked peaceful -- full of life and completely devoid of life. I remember patting him on the check with my hand in hopes of waking him up. "Dad, dad, dad, wake up" I passed to him. His check absorbed the patting of my hand. His head moved slightly. "He gone, Ramon, he's gone" my mother said. I miss him.

What I get and what I don't get: my father is heaven...and I believe that. He's happy, but we hurt. We're supposed to be happy because he is in heaven, but we are supposed to be sad because he is not here. These are things that I get and don't get.

I identify with the woman who cried at Jesus' feet...why did my brother have to go...but I understand he will be resurrected. Jesus responds, "he will be resurrected." And so it was, Lazarus was resurrected.

During my father's funeral I intimately wished that God would raise my dad from the dead. The events ran through my mind: God could raise my father from the dead. My father would sit up in his casket. People all around would gasp. People would cry. We all would cry. I would cry. Utter amazement would over come us all. Some how news crews would get wind of the mighty resurrection and pounce onto scence at the funeral. Local anchormen and woman would interview my family and me. But, for my father's safety, we would prohibit interviews with my father. 3 days after my father had been resurrected, we would be on Larry King live. He would ask us, "why do you not allow people to interview your father, the resurrected one?" We/I would respond, it is best for him that way. A day later, the tabloids, in huge letters would print: "Resurrected man dies." And the circus would all be over.

On another note: I now have a girlfriend...what a weird but delightful thing.