My dad is 89 years old now and is suffering from dementia. The professionals are telling us it won’t be long before he gets to go home to the Lord. He and my mom have been uncomfortably clear for many years that they are ready to go, and yet, this news is still a blow, bittersweet. As believers, we long to be with Jesus, but I’m finding out that death can be slow and difficult, even when someone is ready.

In my professional life, I discuss with people how we often inherit our communication style from our family, just as we do our physical features. I often ask people if they inherited their mom’s silent treatment or their father’s yelling style. Perhaps it’s vice versa. We do what we know until we decide to take different actions, often as a result of painful bruises. In my case, I think I would have avoided more than a few bruises if I had inherited more of my father’s communication style. 

My dad struggles to communicate now, so I have to write in the past tense to share his communication legacy. Here are some reflections.

My dad’s gentle spirit stood out in stark contrast to most people around him, maybe especially me. While I would often be verbally fired up about many, many things, I can count on one hand how many times I ever heard him raise his voice (unless he was at a basketball game). If his precious Marshals or Wildcats were playing, all bets were off on his staying quiet. As a communication coach, I work with people from all over the U.S., and I am constantly reminded of how important the simplest things, like a lower volume and a slower pace, are to keeping tensions down. 

It’s a myth that strong communicators are extroverts. Dad was quiet. Again the opposite of this daughter who loves an audience and a microphone, I rarely saw him in front of any audience, aside from leading prayer at church. From my perspective as a child, I saw him serve our church as a deacon for many years, serve our community as a city council member, and serve on the volunteer fire department. In full disclosure, I’m pretty sure my mom wrote in his name on the ballot for city council and was the energy behind starting the volunteer fire department. Yet, when people needed him, he was willing to quietly serve.

My dad was such a solid, calming, and consistent presence. Dad simply wasn’t reactionary; I don’t remember him flipping out or getting loud over bad news or surprise expenses like car repairs. He must have often stressed about paying bills or educating kids, or all the adult things he and mom were responsible for with four children. Even when he and mom disagreed, he was in check. Again, as a communication coach, I know how valuable that skill is; I certainly haven’t mastered it.

I don’t even remember my dad being in a hurry, which is one more thing that must have skipped a generation. One time when I was in elementary school, he was taking me to my basketball game, and when we arrived at the gym, I realized I had forgotten my shorts. I started to panic, but he simply drove us back home and back to school without a sharp word. That might have been the night I scored my one and only point for the season.

My dad was generous with kind words and encouragement. He missed few opportunities to tell us that he loved us and was proud of us. This particular trait did pass to me, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

Mom and Dad were the very definition of “the two shall become one,” and everyone knew it. They were childhood sweethearts, married for 70 years, and he loved to talk about what a wonderful life they had together as husband and wife. Their devotion to each other was and is so Christ-like, a holy union. Right now, even when his understanding is so limited, my mom is his rock. I’m sure I’ll never know the blessings of how their marriage impacted my own.

The last time Dad had a real conversation with me, the only thing he wanted to talk about was love. He loved mom. He loved us children and was so proud of us as adults. He loved our life together in our tiny town. At best, the four of us were a challenge to parent, each in our own way. I can think of so many worrisome things we put our parents through, and yet the only thing he chose to remember and share was the love. His blue eyes sparkled the whole time, and he couldn’t stop smiling when he talked about his family. I’ll always cherish this last conversation, sitting by his side, leaning my head on his shoulder.

It strikes me that any one of these communication qualities that I listed above is a game-changer for the people around us. There are the rare people, like my dad, who have many admirable communication habits, but if you have any one of these and are maybe working on another, then you are in a strong position to show Jesus to others. 

Am I remembering my dad through rose-colored glasses? Probably to some extent, but mainly I think he remembered us through rose-colored glasses. I absolutely remember the difficulties, stresses, conflicts, and major challenges that we went through as a family. This makes this last conversation so much more meaningful; he chose to remember, share, and treasure the love. In John 13:34-35, Jesus says, "A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this, all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."