“What are you most proud of?” she asked.

He paused for a moment, then responded softly.  “That I graduated the apprenticeship… and that my family loves me.”  In this moment (season) of darkness, there wasn’t much else that came to his mind.

He could have said that he had previously served as the president of the labor union. He could have referred to his years of military service.  He could have referred to his years of battling through depression. He could have talked about his position in his church.

In this moment of crisis, his family’s love for him came to mind.

I hate that he feels broken and useless. I hurt knowing he has so much hurt he still needs to work through. I grieve for the ups and downs that his journey will continue to bring him through. But knowing he feels loved gives me some hope that his story is far from over.

I know I’m not more important than the people around me. I know I’m not better, smarter, or stronger. What I do feel is that it’s my calling to care for those around me. I feel called to be the shepherd of my family. I’m here to love them. I’m here to father them. I feel honored and incredibly grateful to be here for them: my wife, kids, nieces, nephews, mother, coworkers, and friends.

I do lean on others too.  Vaughan, Mike, Daniel B, Mark R. and others.  These brothers have seen me ugly-cry too many times.  I’ve learned to be open and vulnerable and weak with my wife.  I’ve tried to show my son Daniel my flaws and wounds.  Even when I sat with him at Carrabba’s and shared my deepest weaknesses, wounds, and flaws, he replied back that he knows he has the best dad in the world.  What irony.

I pray all my family feels loved. I pray they feel safe. I pray they learn to lean on God and on each other. I pray they learn to care for each other, forgive each other, and encourage each other. I pray they become strong, independent, and well.

I am painfully aware of my mortality and that one day I will not be physically present for those I love. There’s often an unhealthy focus on the fact that I’m dying (though at this moment I’m a healthy 41-year-old.) But when I’m gone, I hope my family members embody the values that somewhere along the way became engrained into who I am.

My cousins recently prayed over me and said some words that meant so much to me.  “God is bringing a new lineage through you.” I claim it.  I’m passing on a legacy.  I’m being used to change our family’s destiny.  My dad’s wounds wounded me.  He left me with a handful of memories and a shitload of pain.  I’ve grown past the shame.  I’ve used my pain to be a healer.

Am I proud? Damn right I’m proud. My family feels loved.