We had plenty of time to say goodbye to my father. And he to us. Like a roller coaster reaching the apex of its climb, his life began to slow up some years ago. Then, in the last twelve months, he spiraled down, the decline accelerating with each passing day, hour, even minute. Each time I visited I was acutely aware it might be the last I’d see him alive. On the way out the door on our last visit, I stopped at his recliner, leaned over and kissed his forehead – a relatively recent gesture in our relationship – and told him I loved him.
He said, “I love you, too, son.” Then he handed me a twenty dollar bill for gas money. I didn’t need it, but I took it. One does not deprive an old man the pleasure of giving to his children, the feeling that he still has something to give.
My brother called on a Tuesday while we were vacationing. “Dad is headed to the hospital. Don’t come home. I’ll keep you posted.”
That changed Thursday morning in a text. “You should head this way. Soon.”
Throughout that day, the grandchildren who were nearby managed to get by and see him. Mom, my three siblings and I were there for his last three hours. Then he simply drew in and exhaled a final breath. My sister-in-law, a nurse, felt for a pulse, leaned in to listen, then ever so slightly shook her head. He looked exactly the same thirty seconds, a minute, five minutes after that last breath as he had before. Except he wasn’t.
I was a little bothered that I didn’t cry right there in the hospital room. Mom cried. My sister cried. So did my sister-in-law, the nurse, and her daughter, my niece. I’ve been around grief enough to know that different people express it in different ways. But I am definitely a weeper. I cry when Barry Manilow sings Mandy, for crying out loud. In that moment, though, with my father lying lifeless before me, my heart was heavy but my eyes were dry.
The next morning was filled with the administrative minutia that follows the death of a loved one. A suit for burial had to be picked out. A shirt, a tie. Friends and relatives had to be notified. Calls had to be received and handled. Arrangements made. All the while, we were checking on mom and each other.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m good. You?”
“I’m good.”
And still, I hadn’t cried. Not a single tear.
And then I saw his shoeshine kit. I was rummaging in his closet, for a tie I think, when I looked down and saw the simple wooden box with the hinged lid and an inclined shoe-shaped platform on top. Back when men still wore suits and ties to church and required their sons to do the same, that shoe shine kit was at the center of a sacred Sunday morning ritual.
After breakfast, my father, my brother and I would move to the den where Dad would manually tune the TV to the Gospel Singing Jubilee. While the Florida Boys, the Spears or the Happy Goodman Family sang southern gospel favorites, Dad would open up that wooden box and oversee the shining of the shoes.
It began by twisting the little wingnut on the appropriate colored tin of Kiwi shoe polish – always and only black or brown. A little rubbing alcohol would be poured into the tin to assure even distribution of the wax. We’d lightly dab a wooden handled brush into the tin, then rub it into the leather of each shoe.
After giving the wax a few minutes to set, we’d use a soft-bristled brush to remove the excess, then buff out a shine with a long piece of felt cloth. Dad would always inspect our work to make sure we had given the heals as much attention as we had the toes of our shoes.
The sounds of southern gospel, the smell of the wax, the shine of a freshly polished pair of little boy shoes all rushed through my mind the second I saw that wooden box.
And then I cried.
Memory is deep. Family is strong. God is good. All is well.
I have that same memory of the Sunday morning ritural.
Lost art of shoe shining being passed down. Prayers and thinking of you this past week.
I am not the least surprised that Tom trained you in the fine art of shoe shining. He trained you well in all areas. Blessings, friend.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful sentiment, Jody. You and your family have been in our hearts and prayers. We love you all!
Steve and Debbie Gregory
Thank you Debbie. Blessings to you and your sweet family.
A wonderful memory to treasure!
Those are the ones that we hang on to. Thanks Eudene.
Jody, I am so sorry to hear of your loss of your father. My Dad passed 2 years ago at the age of 97. We will always have our memories and we know they are in a better place, but at this time we will miss them terribly. Just know that my prayers are with you and your family at this time. Also we miss you here in Atlanta.
Vickie Koons
Thank you, Vickie.
And now I’m crying … Jody, I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t cry when my dad passed either. Your article touched me on so many levels. Thank you for sharing. Jan
We all grieve in different ways, at different times. It’s less processional and more cyclical. And we never know what will trigger us. blessings.
Not quite on the same level, actually nowhere near it, I have memories of you. Good memories like the Sunday Amy and I responded at Riverdale to confess we had not been living like God wanted us to and to place membership. We really liked your preaching and were so sad the day you announced you would be leaving. Since then our paths have only crossed once, when we visited the Campus congregation with friends. To this day I’ve never forgotten you or the impression you left on me as a man of God.
I enjoy reading your articles very much and wish you all the best….
Hey Tim. Thank you for your kind words. Any good any of us ever do is through the Spirit living in us. So credit, glory and praise are all God’s. Your words encourage me enormously. Blessings to you and your family.
I have a similar shoe shine memory with my dad. He had a small wicker basket with all of his supplies in it. His shoes were always polished. I’m sorry for your loss but glad for your memories.
Thank you Ken. Funny how the little things seem big enough to hold grand memories.
We all lost a truly great man. Your father taught me so much about living the life of a good and faithful Christian. Our love to you all.
Thank you Debby. He was one of a kind.
We share the shoeshine memory. Love you all.
I’m finding that a lot of us gathered around that little altar on Sunday mornings.
Sorry to hear of your Dad’s passing. Your story reminds me of my Dad’s shoe shine box…. He passed 10 years ago today…I did not cry at first because at that time I had recently lost the man I loved and trusted most and now my Dad was gone too… I was afraid To cry because it was too much…but evidently the tears came and I got to speak and sat goodbye…
May God Bless you all…
Sometimes, we just have to hit the pause button on our emotions. I’m glad you found the space to let it out.
Precious memories! Sorry to hear of your father’s passing. I’m sure he was a great man being he was your dad. I shouldn’t have read this in public! Very touching.
Thank you Kathy.
What a beautiful story. The passing of a parent is never easy. I’m pretty sure my dad still has a wooden box just like that one. Little girls used to shine shoes, too. Sometimes I would shine my dad’s shoes. Sweet memories. We are praying for your family.
Thank you Suzanne. Love to you and your boys. And John.
I’m so sorry. I suppose we all travel the same road in different ways. Hope to see you soon.
Thank you Reta. We travel the same road indeed.
Jody thank you for this beautiful memory. Your family has blessed so many lives
Your mom and dad have been a great example to so many. My dad shined shoes on Saturday and we did not get to watch Jubliee because they sang with instruments. It is wonderful to have these great memories. Love to all of you
And your family. It is never easy to give up our parents.
Yeah, dad was a little soft on that A Capella thing.
Reid and I have been blessed with this wonderful tribute and memory.
Thank you Andrea.
All of us grieve differently. It is the little things that I miss most about my dad. Not the blowups or difficult times but all the times I think “I should call dad.” That’s what hurts most, still today, 22 years later.
Blessings to you and yours at your loss.
Blessings to you and your family as well.
My heart and prayers as always are with you. Yes, you made me cry. I still have Dwight’s shoe shine box that looks just like your dad’s. You have helped my family through many events. I send my prayers and blessings to you everyday.
Thank you Donna. Like Dwight, dad loved to sing. Perhaps they are singing together!
Well, now I have known you for more than 40 years – seems impossible, doesn’t it? There have been lots of laughter, and lots of tears, and even more blessings. Now that I’m on “this end” things take on a whole different focus. All those “shoe box” memories combine to make a beautiful collage of what has been. Sometimes the tears fall inside, but they’re still there – and at just the right time to let the pressure go. Again, you have enriched me (as have Norris and Ann) and I thank God for you.
You were younger than I am now when we first met. And I thought you were old then! Age, however, is not barrier to kindred souls. Love you friend.
Sorry for your loss Jody. It brought back memories of many years ago when my dad would wait on us not so patiently as we got ready for church. Times have changed. He is long gone from this earth but lives on in precious memories.
Thank you, Nancy. Memory is one of God’s greatest gifts to us.
Beautifully written. I lost my dad just over a year ago and I know what you mean… it’s the little things that seem to bring the tears. The things that trigger the memories of the things that really matter. I am sorry for your loss.
Thank you Kimberly.
One of my favorite writers… Sorry to see that you lost your Dad. Even with plenty of time to “prepare “, you never are prepared. God bless you and your family, Jody.
Thank you Robyn. You are correct — time to prepare does not necessarily translate into being prepared.
Oh, Jody, I wish we had known sooner. Would have loved to be there with you as you started down the path of grief — you have been there for so many of us. Isn’t is a blessing to share those final moments? I’m so grateful to have been there when my dad passed. And I’m so grateful for your friendship with him. Know that you are remembered, loved, and prayed for from Atlanta. (Oh, and the Gatz girls learned how to shine shoes on a new-fangled electric polisher!)
Your father was a dear man, a dear friend. Thank you, Beth.
Jody, I am so sorry for your loss, and I am so grateful that you were with me and my family when my father passed. He also used to turn on the Gospel Singing Jubilee every Sunday morning as well. It’s part of the soundtrack of my childhood. Thank for for sharing your memories and reminding me of my own. Sending love.
“Soundtrack of my childhood.” Perfect. I loved your dad. Blessings.
Sorry Jody. I remember many of your stories over the years. This one made me cry thinking of many childhood memories.
Like others who have posted, our family had that exact same kit.
Thanks Mike. Sorry to say I didn’t create that same tradition with my boys. Kind of hard to shine tennis shoes. Ah, well. Some things change. Some don’t. Good friends always matter. JV
My heart goes out to you Pastor Vickery. This breaks my heart like a vase on the floor. I love you, man. 🙂 I remember when you told me the story of Jean.
Thanks, Trey. Love you, buddy.
Jody and family, I have a smile and a tear rolling down my cheek in memory of your dad and you at Duluth church of Christ, your dad leading singing and you standing beside him. You are about 10 and sure your shied were shined Always had special feelings for your Mother and Daddy and the dedication they shared for God and family. As a young married couple Jay and I picked special people in the congergation who we would look up to in later years of our marriage! Most of those have received their heavenly home ! I know we choose well as you know Jay is there with them! Blessings ahead as you travel this journey without your dad being physically here on earth, but you can visit those memories anytime you wish! Love and Bkessings To All!??
Thank you, Brenda. Duluth was a ways back there.
Jody,
Thinking of you and yours.
Right about the little things!
They will pop in your mind for a while
Ateve
Thanks Steve. You’ve been there. JV
It’s been 49 years, but I remember like it was yesterday–some memories burn deep. I remember my dad’s shoe shine box, too; I watched while he worked on my shoes, carefully and with love. I wish I had known him as an adult. Blessings on you and your family, Jody. Embrace the wealth of memories!
Thank you, Amy. Half a century and you still remember. Amazing.
I watched this same shoe shining scenario play out many, many times as I was growing up….with a very similar, if not identical, box. Thank you for sharing this memory, and your heart, with us. I’m praying you feel the comfort of God’s love as you mourn the loss of your father. You and Lisa are so dear to Tim and me and we miss you much! Hugs and love….
Kim
Apparently, whomever was selling shoe shine kits in the ’60’s did a booming business. Thank you for your sweet words. Feelings are mutual.
Jody, Mike and I are so very sorry for the loss of your Dad. We have both lost our dads and the pain of the loss is sometimes unbearable. I cry every time I see a Dairy Queen Dilly bar. My Daddy used to surprise us and bring home Dilly bars for a special treat. We miss you and Lisa and hope to get to Huntsville soon! We would love to hear you preach once again. We enjoy your posts! Biggest of hugs.
Thank you Lou Ann. It’s remarkable how the little things seem to spark the biggest memories.
I had and still have from time to time the same experiences. A week ago has been 3 years since he passed. Dad was in a quartet in school and the same guys continued to sing together for years. Then because of them living so far apart at high school reunions. Dad loved singing and whistling. He and mom went to southern gospel concerts a lot. I, too, enjoy listening to the cd’s he listened to and wanted me to have and, yes, there are certain songs that remind me of him and his smile when he heard them…that make me cry.
Like another comment noted, for many of us, southern gospel is the soundtrack of our childhoods. Special memories, Randy. Thank you.
Jody: I am sorry for the loss of your father. I truly know what sorrow and pain one can experience through the loss of a loved one. Continue to be strong and trust in God and the power of his might.Yours-in-Christ,Mary Kyser.
Thank you, Mary. God is good. Blessings to you.
I’m so sorry, Jody…for you, your mother, your siblings and your children. You’ll never stop missing your dad and you’ll never know what will trigger such sweet and precious memories as this one. You memory today brought tears to my own eyes remembering the shoe shine box and shining shoes with your dad. There were only white patton leather shoes in my house with four daughters, but I remember watching my daddy shining his shoes every Sunday morning. I kept that little shoe shine box of my dad’s with the black and brown the kwik polish and the buffing rag. It’s funny, the simplest tasks and smallest of things seem to always trigger the most precious of memories. Sending Kenny and I’s love and remebering your beautiful family in our prayers.
Thank you, Daniele. Little things over long periods make big memories. Blessings.
Jody, I started to bring my shoe shine kit to church Sunday but thought it might be too much for you so I left it home.
I’ve read all the responses to the blog and a lot of folks love you. I’m one of them and really appreciate what you and Luke mean to Twick. JV
Hey Jim. We are blessed to be a part of a great church. And I’m glad you did not bring your kit! Probably would have been a bit difficult to get through the service.
Memories are what we can hold on to.
And what keeps our lost loved ones alive in our hearts. Thank you, Bob.
I don’t know if it was a Church of Christ thing or just going to church thing but even above the Mason Dixon line we had the same Sunday morning ritual. Great memory that made me go back and NOW appreciate all of the small, very important, rituals my Dad put us boys through. Thanks Jody. Love to you and your family.
Thank you, Phil. Good to know the ritual spans regions. Perhaps we are all more alike than we know. Sharing such memories may be a way to build bridges to cross the divides that seem to wide these days. Blessings.
I am sorry for your loss of your dad. I know what you mean… it’s the little things that seem to bring the tears. Embrace the memories! Alisa
Thank you Alisa. Blessings.
So beautifully expressed, as always. When I saw the title of your post I didn’t read it immediately as I instantly knew what the subject must be. So I waited. But Ken & I have the same vivid memory of the ritual which was on Saturday evening for our dad. I have begun to wonder what it is that my boys will vividly remember about me. So sorry for your loss but Heaven is rejoicing on the arrival of your dad. I’m sure he was so proud of you. Love you & Lisa!
We probably have no idea what our children will recall about us. I doubt dad would ever have thought the shoe shining ritual would become such a touchstone. That’s just as well. Blessings to you and Eddie.
I can still remember the smell of that wax. And, remember how he also polished my black and white saddle oxfords while he had the kit out. I know this is only one small memory that you hold in your heart and pray they bring you lots of comfort in the days to come. Love you, Jody. Give Jim Van a big hug from me!
Small memories carry a lot of freight. I’ll shake Jim’s hand. 😉
Thank you for putting into words how grief comes to each of us differently. You were there for me when I took care of my mom in her last days, and many other times in my life. Certain songs and moments bring her back so quickly to my mind. I love those reminders God gives us. I’m praying for your family and your mom in the days ahead. Your family is loved!
Having brothers and sisters there for us in the storms makes all the difference. Thank you, Amy.