When my mother died from brain cancer in 2017, it broke my heart.
When my father died from brain cancer last week, it left a hole in my soul.
We all love our parents. Strike that. We all want to love our parents, but some parents are unworthy of the wide-eyed, never-ending love a son or a daughter wants to share.
I was blessed. Wait, strike that one, too. I have been amazingly blessed.
I married my best friend. My kids are healthy and talented. My family - albeit shrinking - is strong and supportive.
But the first blessing God gave me - and we all remember our firsts, right? - was the gift of great parents. Bobo and Pop are what they were called by everyone, and they were loved.
As the news of Pop's death last Tuesday spread, the kind wishes have been amazing, and greatly appreciated.
They also represent the dichotomy of the end of this life for so many, and Pop was no different. He was ready to meet his Maker, to see my mother again and not worry about the headaches or the physical and emotional pain in the end.
My head and heart find solace in that. Every day.
But I also know that Pop wanted to spend another spring in a youth baseball dugout. He talked about seeing his grandkids graduate high school, then college. He dreamed of returning to El Salvador with his church mission group. My head and heart find pain in that. Every day.
So my father's death leads me back to the place where so many of this life's roads meet: the intersection of the brain's clarity and the spirit's wants.
Yes, my father is in a better place. But the knowledge and eternal belief of that better place do not take away from the fact that I want him here, in the only place I have ever known him to be. Down the street. A phone call away. Always there if I and so many others needed him.
I'm 47, but until Pop died I never felt old. Maybe that's the lesson from the man who taught me so much: Life comes and goes, and when it's gone, gang, it's gone.
Planning his celebration of life has galvanized that thought. And this one: What will be my celebration of life?
Looking back will I ask, did I do enough? Did I share enough? Did I set the example that was set for me? Did I make Pop proud?
I think so. I hope so.
But the one thing I know for sure is I can no longer ask Pop to make sure.
In my journey with him, he had three familiar refrains.
When I was young, he'd frequently tell me, "You beat all I've ever seen." More times than not it was not meant as a compliment.
Later, as I was growing into a man, he'd tell me to "Work hard." More times than not it was a reminder that being good could always be enhanced by giving good effort.
In the last few years, he'd say, "Be careful." More times than not it was a clear reminder that the job of a dad is about service to those who depend on him.
I think I heard all of them and learned from each of them.
And I know I will forever miss the man who shared them with me.
Contact Jay Greeson at jgreeson@timesfreepress.com and 423-757-6343.