On March 19, at a little after 8 p.m., my dad left this neck of the woods, destined for the most all-inclusive vacation resort one could ever imagine — actually, far beyond what anyone could ever imagine.

I stand in front of, and speak before, people every day — it is a very satisfying way to “earn” a living. However, I would never have the strength to stand at the front of a church, next to a box, and deliver my dad’s eulogy. But, if I could, these are some of the words I would say:

“Whatever pile of bones, flesh and organs that occupy this box was never my father.”

With this startling revelation, I would stop for a few moments and let those words sink in.

“Anyone and everyone that knows my Dad should understand the true meaning of what I just said. Dad said those words to me hundreds of times — and I am certain I am not the only person that heard them. This amalgamation of dust was merely the earthly vessel that temporarily housed the true essence of his being, the force that made him who he is — his soul.

My dad was not a believer in God…”

Again, I would pause — not for dramatic effect, but because I would probably be trying to keep a grip on my emotions.

“Dad was so much more than just a ‘believer’. A quick search of my thesaurus found no single word to adequately describe the level of faith, devotion and true commitment my dad has to the Almighty. He is the embodiment of conviction — unwavering in every way. Many years ago, he was in dire need of heart bypass surgery. As he was being wheeled into the operating room, he evangelized to the doctors, nurses, orderlies, and anyone else within earshot — just in case that might be his last chance to share God’s word.

Dad passed just three days short of his 94th birthday. Several people, including myself, thought it would have been great if he could have made it to his birthday — such a meaningful milestone. But, after a day or so to ponder the thought, March 22 was NOT his birthday. … It was just the anniversary of the day he came to be. I am certain that the moment he crossed that threshold was not his time of death, but his true time of birth. I know that is how Dad sees it.

My dad, although an interesting man, was not an energetic man. No one has ever accused him of being overly ambitious. I have often joked that was what gave him his longevity — he stockpiled all that unused energy for his later years and spent it in the most miserly of ways. I remember vividly, when the driveway needed shoveling after a winter storm, Dad would remark, “Why bother? God is going to bring the spring and melt it all away.” It was an interesting way of looking at things. But Dad didn’t leave every problem up to God to solve — he knew he had three able-bodied sons that understood the business end of a snow shovel. I also remember, when the lawn needed mowing, he would say to me, “I’ll let you mow the lawn, today.’” He would say these words as if he was granting me some great privilege. He would have been a great motivational speaker — if he had a little more motivation.

In Mathew 25: 32-34, it is written, “All the nations will be gathered before Him; and He will separate them from one another, as the shepherd separates the sheep from the goats; and He will put the sheep on His right, and the goats on the left. Then the King will say to those on His right, ‘Come, you who are blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.’”

I don’t know how many right hands God has, but I know my Dad is truly blessed of the Father, and is sitting at His right hand, right now.”

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com