We work our lives to establish pillars to support the buildings in which we dwell, those in which we work, and even those in which we eat, drink and shop. Have you ever considered the pillars that we build to support our lives? What do these pillars look like? Are they people or actions? Are they physical or emotional? Where do they coexist from and how do we find them. A pillar ties a building to the bedrock and helps to support the very foundation of the building. What are our pillars and where do they come from?

I can tell you, mine came from watching the things that my father did. He always had an ear for someone to bend. I can think of no friend in need, that if the request was in his power or means that he refused. He simply was willing to listen to people, even strangers and not judge them. He was willing to help with the most mundane to the most intricate task. He was just willing to be a pillar of support.

As a young child, I never understood why my father would take me to the funeral home when his friends, acquaintances and distant relative lost someone. I was there observing. I saw the comfort that my father provided to these people. I never understood what it meant until he was gone and I was the person that needed the comforting. That is when I realized how much support he provided to those friends. It was a lesson well learned and very well paid back by so many of those same people during my time of need.

I always said, I do not want my funeral to be a time of sadness. I want my friends and family to celebrate my life. I understood during my father’s funeral that I was sad because he was no longer with me and I would miss all those future milestones and sharing with him but I loved hearing the stories about his life and what he meant to other people. He truly was a pillar.

Since that time, my friends have started to lose their parents and or loved ones. I make sure that I get a minute or two with each of them and share my memories of the person that they lost. They are usually stories that make me smile or laugh or long for just one more piece of cake. I remember spending what seemed like hours telling stories of one of my high school friends mothers. She stopped me and made me tell her children the stories I remembered of their grandmother when I was the age of the oldest grandchild. Soon even their grandfather was listening to me tell my memories of his departed wife. It may be sacrilege but we left evening with at least temporary smiles.

I guess in that way, I learned to be a pillar for my community for my father. Thanks Dad.