Time with John

One bittersweet and painful yearning that I have come to know coming from the passing of those we love is an enduring and anguished desire for more time, even if it would be for just a day or a few hours more with the ones we love. It seems that this life, filled with its endless duties and activities, is no substitute for having more time to spend connecting with those we love. And even though I will look on the time I spent with my brother with gratefulness, I will always long for more.

Uncle John and Joshua teaming up for a game of Guestures.

John stayed with us one Friday night in October. We were pleased he stopped by as we knew he could have traveled further that night, perhaps spending the night in Reno in order to get home sooner. In that short night John showed all of the traits that made him a much-loved brother, uncle, and friend. John had come in after 8:00 p.m. and had to leave us early the next morning for the long drive home to his family in Colorado. My sons were looking forward to their uncle’s visit all week. When he arrived they eagerly showed him their rooms, toys, cats, and new skills they had developed with yo-yos since he had last seen them that summer. They were clearly pleased that John was there, even if they were able to visit with him only for a couple of hours before they had to go to bed. Jami and I were, too. John was tired from a full day’s work and from driving from the bay area to our house in northern California. But even though he was tired, John took the time to talk with my sons, learning how their sports and school were going. Before 5:00 a.m. the next morning John was gone, and we were left wishing his visit could have been longer.

John was very smart. He applied himself in school, earning scholarships and performing well in college and graduate school. I recall my older brother’s studious nature when we were still at home, seeing his schoolbooks and assignments piled up neatly on his desk, and often observing a light in his room late at night while he completed homework. I believe he was the first of us to take honors classes. He even had a smart looking jacket for joining the National Honor Society in high school, which I thought was pretty cool. John’s hard working nature continued to motivate him to provide for his family, putting in long hours to make sure that Heidi and his children had the things they would need.

John was versed in a range of topics of scientific, technological, and mathematical in nature. He was pleased to learn that my sons had an aptitude for math and were expressing an interest in studying it in college, perhaps as mechanical engineers, in biotechnology, or as computer programmers, as John himself had done. He encouraged them to pursue this interest. The work he put in at school and in providing for his family was a great example for my sons of how hard a father and husband should work in school and in a career.

Hiking in Golden Gate State Park with John and Sebastian.

My brother was also great with kids and teenagers. This disposition was evident over 20 years go when he was a lifeguard and swim teacher in the summers as a young man. And anyone with children who spent time with John would no doubt have appreciated how engaging he was with even small children. My sons loved how fun their uncle was, enjoying his clever teasing and playful way, where John always wore a sly smile as his mind quickly thought of additional ways to make my boys laugh. John readily connected with children and was especially tender with his own young sons. Whether on a hike or an impromptu game of stickball in his backyard, John was always up to having adventures with his boys. He would often do this while holding hands with one of his sons or carrying the other on his shoulders and gently encouraging them along by lovingly calling, “Come on, Bug.”

John liked to talk. I started to appreciate this when I lived in Texas and I had opportunity to call John from time to time. During our phone calls I found that he was genuinely interested in what my work was like, how my wife and kids were, while he shared with me how his work was going and how his family was doing. At times during these calls we would also respectfully debate politics and religion, even though we had clearly different views on most of these issues. And when our travels allowed us to be together, with the kids asleep, we would talk for hours. Our conversations were interesting and usually unhurried, as is fitting with friends.

I still have his phone number in my contacts. I am most reluctant to remove it, wishing more than anything that I could call him again. I know those who also spent time talking with John will miss this too.

Heidi helping Sebastian see what his cousins are doing.

John and Heidi talked about everything. Jami and I would learn that they had thoroughly discussed the numerous domestic issues that come up in a young family that is in the midst of running a home and raising children. Both of them would laugh at the other’s take on a disagreement. In these discussions Heidi would call him, “Husband!” and he would call her, “Woman!” as part of their effort to persuade the spouse of the soundness of their own view while teasing the other one for theirs. These spats were never over serious issues, and Jami and I considered ourselves privileged that the two of them would humorously review their debates in front of us.

John was also devoted to and loved Heidi deeply. This was obvious to me when I was in college and I had not yet met Heidi, and would not for a few years. It didn’t take long for John to bring up Heidi in any conversation we had. This occurred for a period of 2 or 3 years with me never meeting Heidi due to our school schedules and due to a move that Jami and I did shortly after getting married. Invariably, every time I would see John or talk to him by phone he would bring up Heidi. I had not yet met her, and had I not received corroboration from my mom and siblings, I would have doubted that she existed. She seemed so perfect in John’s descriptions. 

Fortunately, I did get to meet Heidi after they moved back to Colorado. I now understood why John was always able to talk about her. It made sense; they were great together. We couldn’t help but think of the Heidi when we thought of John. John was very loyal to Heidi, being conscientious to do things that would benefit their marriage and working hard so that they could buy a house, even getting it remodeled, so that they could have the home that they dreamed of for their young family. 

A final trait that I wish to share about John was his sensitive nature. John cared about others, showing concern for their needs and feelings. One might not note this attribute in John when first meeting him because of his mischievous nature. After all, we often think of those who play pranks, although they may be funny, as showing a degree of callousness towards others. This was not so with John. He cared about what others thought about him. He considered the impact of his words and actions on others and would apologize if he hurt someone.

The young father playing with his first son.

Early the next morning in October I got up at 4:30 to cook John breakfast. He had a long drive ahead so I wanted him to eat something hearty. He informed me the night before that he had snacks, and really did not need me to get up. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way; it was a chance for us to talk. Over breakfast we shared plans for Christmas, looked at the weather conditions, and talked about getting together next summer when we anticipated that we would once again get our two families together. And even though I wished that he could have spent more time with us, it was a treat to have him over for the night. I never imagined that as I saw him drive away early that morning that I was seeing John for the last time. That would be the only time that John visited our home.

And more time is what we all would want. Time, I’ve realized, is one of our most valuable possessions. It should be spent wisely as it is the only asset we spend that we cannot exchange for something else should we discover that we invested it poorly. Time is also one of the greatest gifts you can give to someone else because, and when given whole-heartedly, spending time with another is a giving of oneself.

John’s death was tragic and a loss for his family, my family, and for numerous others who counted themselves blessed to have John as their friend. We all wish that we could have spent much more time with John. We all also grieve at the loss of the anticipated experiences that we know John would have brought to each of our lives were he still alive today. Now, with the time each of us has left, let us evaluate where we are investing it. May the memory of John Robert Todd motivate us to make the most of every minute, freely expressing love for our family and friends and fully living in the moments we have now. May we grow in our ability to measure the true value of what we spend our time doing and may that help us make the people we have in our lives the priority that they should be. And may each of us make time to be with Heidi and her boys to support them now and for the many years to come. I can think of no greater investment that John would want us to make to honor him than to spend time ministering to Heidi and to her sons, sharing memories of John and helping his sons to never forget how great and loving a man their father was. And as we see these two boys grow and take on those traits that we admired in our brother and friend, may we be on hand to affirm them in his sons. And I pray that God will bless these anticipated times, creating special memories for Heidi, Sebastian, and Oscar, that will cause John to live within each of their hearts forever.

 Overlook at summit of Golden Gate State Park trail with John, Sebastian, and my family.

First Memories of Grandpa

One of my earliest memories of grandpa was when he took my dad and I to one of his most favorite fishing holes. I was 5 at the time, so I remember that the horses were very big and I was afraid that they would buck me off, or step on me! But luckily I had Dad with me. He held the reigns and all I had to do was sit. I reminded Dad every couple minutes, however, not to go too fast because it would give me a tummy ache. 

Grandpa was excited to go fishing with us. I remember when we got to the fishing hole I saw a fish jump straight out of the water, and he said “There’ll probably be more of them fish when we get our lures out.” Sure enough, we caught a fish, and I was excited at first. But as I got closer, I saw that it was still moving. I got scared. I didn’t want to touch a slimy fish!

But now I like fishing very much.  Mind you, I haven’t had to gut one yet, so that may change, but this is one of my earliest memories of my Grandpa, and I like to recall it often.

--Jonathan Todd

Grandpa's Yard

My favorite thing about Grandpa’s house is his yard. There are a lot of things that I like to do in his backyard. My favorite is using my BB gun and pellet gun to shoot at a block of wood. I like doing this because we can’t shoot our guns in the backyard of our house in California. If you pump up the pellet gun, it makes a loud sound and the pellet gets stuck in the wood. Another thing I like to do in Grandpa’s backyard is play with my cousins. Last summer we played tag, volleyball, football and soccer. I also loved to play in a toy car that I could get in. I am glad that I got to play in Grandpa’s backyard. 

--Joshua Todd

He was a Doctor, Outdoorsman, Cowboy, and Rancher, but I Called Him Dad

From January 8

At the time of a loved one’s death we are left with memories. We might have photographs, letters, and in this age, digital recordings of our loved one. The most personal possessions we have, though, are the memories we carry. Memories are not small things. They are not like the vapors rising from some cold spring that fade away with the heat of the sun. Memories, instead, are priceless treasures that are meant be shared, linking us to the one who has passed and to each other.

I know that Dad loved me. I benefitted from his love and guidance starting as a young child and continuing throughout my life. And although many will remember Dad as strong and tough cowboy or as a dedicated and tireless doctor, I will remember and will choose to cherish my memories of him as a tender father who both cared for me and taught me many lessons that I still use today.

One such lesson was this: the expression of love for one’s children is important. To that end, Dad would hug me as a young boy, sweeping me off the ground in his strong arms. Then he would deliberately scratch me with his prickly whiskers. This ritual was always followed by wet kisses that he would slather on my face, and, as I judged them to be, were entirely too wet. Dangling helplessly in the air, I had no recourse but to protest loudly. Yet I would giggle as I ran off once I was released. Through the years the hugs never ceased, though he was no longer able to lift me as he had done so frequently when I was a small child. Even in middle school when I would extend a hand to him, with the intent of clearly limiting his affection to a handshake, Dad would pull me in for a bear hug, kisses and all.

To my own children’s dismay, this tradition continues in our home—though my hugs are not nearly as scratchy as Dad’s had been. I do make every effort to give them hugs daily and, of course, apply liberal amounts of kisses.

My dad’s love for me was clear to me through his words, as he would tell me that he loved me, and through his ongoing support, guidance, and the discipline that he would impose on me when I needed correction. I especially appreciated going on the many fishing trips that he would take us on. These trips enriched my life and were a welcome change from growing up on a ranch. Being one of six children, with a hard-working father who was both a full-time doctor and a rancher, I found that getting time alone with Dad was more rare than a young boy like me would have liked it to have been. During the hikes and camping experiences that surrounded these fishing trips Dad cultivated a love for nature and science in us. I remember being delighted to find that Dad was able to answer most any question I had about nature and animals. And over the years I would still come to him for more of that knowledge, focusing the questions on more advanced topics around chemistry, anatomy, physiology, medicine, and genetics. I still fondly recall Dad’s habit of using a napkin during meals together and jotting notes on it to illustrate the points he was making. Ever the teacher, he shaped me in this way too.

And being a doctor, he was able to directly care for injuries and illnesses that I got growing up. (One time he used a pocketknife to help an aching and stubborn tooth of mine emerge from my gums!) I was also comforted as a young parent when I was able to call Dad late at night to seek help for our baby’s racking cough, or for another’s inflamed rash. I can’t convey the comfort Dad brought to Jami and I when we were not able to see a doctor until the next day. Having his support and expertise at those moments is something I know we will greatly miss, and, truly, is a perfect picture of what being a father meant to me. His love was demonstrated time he spent tenderly and expertly assisting us through the trials we faced.

My dad was not a perfect man. He made decisions that shattered our family and made me, as a boy just eight years old, come to doubt his love for me and my family. There are also many ways that I have deliberately departed from the example that Dad provided to my brothers and I as a father and husband. Though many of these decisions Dad had come to regret, as he expressed to me years later in his own way, he was nonetheless able to continue to demonstrate his love and support me as a young man and through the years. With time, I found that I have chosen to not dwell on the mistakes that Dad made. Instead, through being purposeful in my forgiveness of him, I focused on Dad’s admirable traits and allowed myself to be shaped by his tenderness, wise council, and work ethic.

There is much more that I could write, with many insightful and humorous anecdotes describing the odd and distinct ways that he did things on the ranch and on trips. Dad, for instance, had a unique and incredibly embarrassing way of gathering us together from a shopping trip. (Be sure to ask any of my siblings, should you like to know.) And what family do you know had the opportunity to participate in an actual cattle drive, and through our own neighborhood to boot!

I have become who I am, in part, through Dad’s influence on my life. And in the years ahead I know I will yearn to be with him again, to sit and get his take on something, to share a cherished memory, or to hear him recall one of his many stories. For now I will content myself by sharing memories of him with the friends and families who knew him best. I, for one, look forward to being enriched by you as you share the memories you have of Dad with me.

May the memories of Dad we have not melt away like a passing vapor. Instead, may they be the links of a powerful chain that bind us together, joining our thoughts and hearts through time.

Remembering in the Heart

From August 1, 2013

My mom lost her battle to heart failure early this week. When I was eight she went in for surgery to repair a damaged valve. It worked well and served her for many years. Now that she is gone, we carry her in our own hearts.

The Bible states that, “Children are a gift from the Lord.” Surely, then, our mother was also a gift from God. And all of us would name her as our first and one of our best friends.

With her example and her words, she taught us many important lessons that we still benefit from today. She taught us to see the humor in a situation and to never take life too seriously. Growing up, we children were a source of joy for her. And when we were upset, and our world seemed to crumble around us, she could make us laugh. I will always fondly remember that laugh and her eager smile. If you knew her, I know you would, too.

From the beginning she modeled what a loving relationship should be in a family, where she proved to be a faithful companion to her own mother and loved spending time with her brothers, sisters, and her cousins, when her travels allowed. She also helped us to see the good in our own family so that, despite the natural strife and rivalries that all families experience, we still appreciate and love each other. Key to this, I now see, was her unfailing love for each of us and her ability to listen closely to what we said.

She allowed us to fail when we made poor choices. That must have been hard for her. But stepping in to rescue us from our own mess would not have helped us learn from our mistakes, nor take responsibility for our actions. She wouldn’t abandon us, however. But acting as a wise coach, she would comfort us and help us to think through what we would need to do so that we would do better next time. I loved that. And I try to keep this in mind when parenting my own children.

She taught me through the trials she experienced with her health and her marriage to not strive with the things you can’t change, but to do what needs to be done for your self and for the peace of others. I am grateful for her kindness and patience, demonstrated through it all. She endured much hardship for our sakes.

She believed that, often, the simple things were the best things in life, such as taking time to chat with a family member late into the night, or to curl up with a book and pay attention to it as if it were a long lost friend. Going for a walk when we were small children and her health was not such a limit then was always great fun. Or surprising the family with a movie night at home, so that, despite our individual struggles or directions in life, we could sit down to share that time, together. These simple things, I have seen, are embedded in each of her children as we, too, carry out these same traditions with our own families.

Many call her family. We are privileged to call her Mom. And everyone she spent time with would call her friend. May her friendship bring us comfort, and may her memory be a continual source of joy and strength.