“All that my Father gives me will come to me; and the one who comes to me I will most certainly not cast out. I will never, never reject anyone who follows me.” John 6:37 (Amp)
On 2nd August 2017, I became acquainted with grief when death reached out its cruel fingers and snatched my father away. He lost control of his car and clipped two gum trees by the side of the road. His car wavered further along the road until he crashed into a third gum tree, right outside our family home.
I saw my father slumped in his car, our neighbour trying to bring him around, and all I wanted to do was rush over and say, ‘I love you, Dad.’ Except that I couldn’t get to him – a well-meaning stranger kept pulling me away – and he wouldn’t have heard me anyway. Later, I learned that he had already slipped from this world into the next.
What came afterwards was a blur of sirens - so many sirens - and myriads of paramedics and policemen. My mother and I stood together in the midst of that trauma and prayed for Jesus to receive his spirit. We committed him – her husband and my father - into the hands of the Lord.
A few days later, exhausted from grief and shock, I fell asleep in an armchair in the middle of the afternoon and began to dream. I saw Dad brimming with life, his face radiant with joy. He stood and preached with fervour about God. In his younger days, he was a preacher man, but I had never seen him this animated before. In this world, I could no longer speak to him or touch him or spend time with him. But I believed without any doubt he was very much alive in Heaven. More alive than ever before, and one day, I knew I would see him again.
Since that life-changing and difficult day, I’ve had time to reflect on the life of Denis James Dixon, my Dad, and I am thankful that he was my father. His life certainly wasn’t without struggles, but it was a life used by God. Dad’s kindness and wisdom touched the lives of countless people.
What a blessing that he sat down and wrote his memoirs in the last year of his life. I believe the Holy Spirit nudged his heart to put those words to paper. Dad was always a quiet man, and there was so much even I didn’t know about him until I read his memoirs. I’m glad I know now. It helps me to understand so much more about him.
When I was a very little girl, I apparently used to walk up to him and say, ‘I want to kiss and hug you, Daddy.’ I don’t remember because of my young age, but Dad always took delight in retelling that memory. How much I wish I could say those words to him today.
Dad, you were a good father. And I miss you.
I saw my father slumped in his car, our neighbour trying to bring him around, and all I wanted to do was rush over and say, ‘I love you, Dad.’ Except that I couldn’t get to him – a well-meaning stranger kept pulling me away – and he wouldn’t have heard me anyway. Later, I learned that he had already slipped from this world into the next.
What came afterwards was a blur of sirens - so many sirens - and myriads of paramedics and policemen. My mother and I stood together in the midst of that trauma and prayed for Jesus to receive his spirit. We committed him – her husband and my father - into the hands of the Lord.
A few days later, exhausted from grief and shock, I fell asleep in an armchair in the middle of the afternoon and began to dream. I saw Dad brimming with life, his face radiant with joy. He stood and preached with fervour about God. In his younger days, he was a preacher man, but I had never seen him this animated before. In this world, I could no longer speak to him or touch him or spend time with him. But I believed without any doubt he was very much alive in Heaven. More alive than ever before, and one day, I knew I would see him again.
Since that life-changing and difficult day, I’ve had time to reflect on the life of Denis James Dixon, my Dad, and I am thankful that he was my father. His life certainly wasn’t without struggles, but it was a life used by God. Dad’s kindness and wisdom touched the lives of countless people.
What a blessing that he sat down and wrote his memoirs in the last year of his life. I believe the Holy Spirit nudged his heart to put those words to paper. Dad was always a quiet man, and there was so much even I didn’t know about him until I read his memoirs. I’m glad I know now. It helps me to understand so much more about him.
When I was a very little girl, I apparently used to walk up to him and say, ‘I want to kiss and hug you, Daddy.’ I don’t remember because of my young age, but Dad always took delight in retelling that memory. How much I wish I could say those words to him today.
Dad, you were a good father. And I miss you.
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