Each of these men died on December 8. 1980. 2001. 2003.
"...you may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join us, and the world will live as one."
Lennon impacted my life by showing that one can confidently question the validity of religion. How? He illustrated for me through his music that love, peace, and understanding can exist outside of Christianity. That may seem obvious to most, but under the tutelage of dedicated Methodist and Baptist Sunday school teachers and grandmothers from Indiana and Kentucky, it wasn't obvious to me.
Richard Dunkin was 82 when he passed on December 8, 2001. He was my grandfather. The only grandfather I knew. A Fighter Ace in World War II, he shot down thirteen Nazi aircraft, nine of which were confirmed. He flew the crown jewel of fighter planes, the P-51 Mustang. He returned home a war hero, got married, joined the family construction business, and had two children. He moved the business to Anderson, Indiana, in the early 1950s, and it became the most important construction firm in a city that was booming.
My grandfather had an impeccable work ethic and was proud of each completed job. One of his favorite pastimes was to give me tours of the almost completed buildings. Once, as we stood atop the Delaware County Courthouse in Muncie, Indiana, looking out over the city, he stated to me that his favorite aspect of being in construction was that his creations will last for generations to come, so that one day, when he is long gone, I can share with my children and grandchildren that these buildings they see were built by their great-grandfather.
Anderson City Hall. Anderson Public Library. Madison County Jail. Madison County Courthouse. Anderson First United Methodist Church. Anderson High School. Anderson University Wellness Center. Anderson Elementary School. East Side Elementary School.
The list goes on and on.
These aren't just random buildings in the city. They are some of the most important buildings. Some even hold a special place in our family history. He built the church where his children were married. Where his grandchildren were baptized and confirmed. Where his own funeral was held.
Now that I have a child, and have moved back to Anderson after eight years away, I remember exactly what he said, and know that he was correct. I see his legacy all around me. I realize that these structures are just bricks and mortar, but what brings a great sense of pride is the knowledge that each of those buildings, under his care, was built with extreme attention to detail, maximum effort, and no shortcuts taken. It is an ongoing challenge to me to do my best. I no longer hear his voice, but I see those buildings, and they stare back at me with arms folded, reminding me that there is no easy way to success.
I never knew Michael White, who died on December 8, 2003. However, because of his death, his widow, who attended the church where I served as a children's pastor, sought our assistance in finding someone to care for the Whites' children, Anna and Sarah, who were just seven and five at the time. That person ended up being my wife. So despite never knowing Michael White, we were suddenly thrust into the eye of the grieving White family.
Losing a spouse and a father, especially at a young age, is a nightmare surpassed only by losing a child. To be faced with attempting to comfort someone who has just lost a husband and a father was one of the most intense challenges of our lives. The first year for the family was brutal. Tears at almost every meal. With each holiday, another open wound. During that year, I learned about Michael White through countless stories, videos, artifacts, and encounters with his most dear friends. It was the most unique way I have ever gotten to know a person. In some ways, I feel like it's the most authentic way to know someone. When you're not around, people tell it like it is. They give you the good, bad, and the ugly. And they reveal their inner most thoughts about the way you have impacted their lives, because you are not there to make them feel awkward about it.
The death of Michael White is bittersweet. Had it not happened, I would have never gotten to know the White family, which is now like a second family to me. Life has gone on for them. Tammy remarried and I was honored to be the officiant. Her new husband is a good friend. The White children, Anna and Sarah, are like surrogate daughters to me. But as much as I love them and the memories we share, I would give it all back for the return of Michael White. As a father to my own daughter, it is with tremendous sadness that I think about how he only got to spend five and seven years with his daughters. To only have that amount of time with my daughter is one of the worst scenarios imaginable.
So each December 8th brings about sadness and reflection for me. When one analyzes death, faith and God inevitably come to mind. In my constant struggle between wanting to believe God is real and doubting that any religion is legitimate, I find it ironic that a man who liberated me from some of my discriminating religious thoughts is forever linked with the man who established the foundation of my belief in the Christian God, as well as with a man whose fatherly love was surpassed only by his family's unwavering faith in that same God to guide them through tragedy. I guess maybe God planned it that way.
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