My step-father has just passed from complications due to Covid.

He had been moved to hospice yesterday. Today, the chaplain arranged for video calls for me and also for my daughter to see him and speak to him one final time. I had not seen him since Covid started.

He had been in the hospital 27 days before hospice. I had spoken with him on the phone three times during the ordeal, and the procedures he endured were very uncomfortable.

But today, he was in a pleasant bedroom with soft light from an off-screen window. He was not connected to any machines or devices, no restraints that he had previously had.

He was comfortably covered in sheet and blanket on a fine bed and looked finally at peace after all his travail. I was able to tell him we were all so proud of the man he was – how he always tried to do what God wanted him to do, no matter the cost to himself.

He often gave his possessions away to those who needed them more, and was the best kind of Christian, who followed the spirit of Christ of love, tolerance, and forgiveness.

He could completely disagree with people, distant or family, even when he though they were going against the Lord, and still offer compassion and fellowship, and pray that they would someday see the light, even while readily admitting is own illumination was imperfect and that there was no end to his own seeking of the truth.

I loved my father so much. He came into my life when I was seven, accepted the responsibilities of fatherhood and gave me his time, his wisdom, and his heart.

He was my scoutmaster, my chauffeur before I could drive, and even was my assistant in my business for a time in later years. In short, he was always there to support me, in painting a picture for my birthday of my favorite photograph he had taken, driving us on family vacations, organizing trips to Disneyland, the beach, or to see family friends, staying up all night to complete a homework assignment for me while I slept.

He was a fine artist, an inspired composer and pianist, and a veteran who served in Japan in the late 1950s. But most of all, he was a wonderful, loving, nurturing father who encouraged me to find my own way, and guided me to discover the path to it.

He had two small strokes about fifteen years ago that ended his piano playing and artistry, but only in his hands, not in his mind.

For the past four years, I have had the good fortune to have returned to his area where he was living, and visited him in the nursing home every week where we would share stories of his childhood and mine, speak of fond memories, go over our family photo albums, and discuss current events, both of our kin and of the world at large.

I would often bring him special meals, some made by me, but most cooked up by Teresa to share with him. Mary always wished him a greeting whenever I went to visit, and he always sent one in return.

But we shared more that just food and entertainment and news and memories. We shared our hearts, unfettered and open – a conduit filled only with love.

I shall miss him greatly, as I miss my natural father, my mother, my grandparents and all those souls who treated me so well, and whom I hold in my heart every day.

But this is my father’s day – the beginning of his great journey to be with the Lord – the moment he had spent his whole life waiting for and anticipating.

I, myself, am a spiritual agnostic, but my dad was a man of faith. And in respect for the goodness that brought out in him, I will simply wish him well in the hereafter with the words that we spoke to each other at the end of every conversation: “I love you, and God Bless”