The King is Dead

Today was All Saints Day. Our pastor shared some poignant stories of those who went to heaven this year and it reminded me that this time last year my Dad was dying.
I flew home to help him have the luxury of dying at home. It was a week like none I'd had so far. It was a week where I witnessed God's faithfulness and my humanity.
If I am the Queen of Fun my Father was the King.
He had the knack of making the ordinary a real occasion. He loved rounding up the neighborhood kids and making a big splash. Size mattered. If he could cram 17 kids into the convertible with the top down and crawl to the ice cream shop it was just the parade he loved.
If 12 kids would bring their wagons to our yard he would tie them all together, hook them to his riding lawn mower and snake through the streets of Bellemeade the King - Conductor.
Every night in the summer he would make a circle of 12 chairs in the front yard and sit in the center thrown chair. Over the period of several hours many walkers would stop and sit for a while. The king would pontificate over world affairs or golf or cars. I always saw the scene like those sped up videos of Grand Central Station. Before bed time each chair would have hosted at least one happy sitter. In the King's presence everyone felt interesting and honored.
While my Aunt (and Dad's favorite sister) was fighting a losing battle with cancer. Dad would take us up to the culvert across the street from her house and we would shoot bottle rockets into her yard.
Pranks were the language of love in our family.
During the days and weeks after his death we heard many stories and almost always the theme was fun adventures my Dad cooked up and had drafted his many followers into action.
You know after life is over I don't imagine most of what we did or pushed for will be remembered but the ripples of fun will be lasting reflections.