Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit
as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, AMEN!
He was like St. Francis of Assisi and a stand-up comedian. This is how my father was described by his friends. Indeed, I admit that is an accurate way to describe this man who brought me to the Faith.
It was at age three when I had my conversion and my first personal encounter with God. My father was intent on teaching me how to pray, and telling me about God. He gave me a beautiful wooden crucifix which we put up above my bedroom door.
We prayed together one night the Lords Prayer and that is when the Holy Spirit truly seized me. It felt right. It was beautiful. I was communing directly with God! I was hooked. So every night like this before bedtime I would pray with my dad. Then we would take down the crucifix from above my door and Id kiss Jesus good night. (I hope certain people wont call me an idol-worshipper for that!)
My path continued throughout school as such, going to catechism classes, attending Church, but most importantly, growing in my studies of the Scriptures (especially the Gospels) and PRAYER!!!
It was therefore, thanks to my father, Timothy Thomas Hayes, that I came to know the Lord, a debt for which I am eternally grateful, and a fact he knew nothing about until last year when I thanked him (after an argument wed had!) for always giving of himself, thinking of his children and others before himself, selflessly and with a love reflecting that of our Eternal Father and Lord in Heaven.
My father passed on to eternal life on Friday, February 20, 2004, at the young age of 59, after an on-and-off battle with cancer. Nearly three years ago, he passed out at work (due to a brain tumor the size of an orange, as well as two more ones in the brain, and two in the lung) and the doctors gave him only six months to live. Because of fervent prayer, in less than a year the cancer was obliterated with the help of chemotherapy and radiation treatments. The man never once gave in to his illness, standing boldly, strengthened by the faith he had in God.
He wrote to me in a journal he was writing to me, Jesus gave me this cancer because he has some things I need to learn. I havent been doing it Gods way lately, Ive been doing it my way, and this cancer is a wake-up call. Jesus is giving me insight into many things in my life and a chance to make amends.
I only read this after he had passed on. While initially he beat the cancer two years ago, from time to time growths would be detected but removed. However, since last September, my father was just overwhelmed by the treatments that were not having the same effect, and he decided that when it was Gods time to take him home, he would go.
Unable to visit him since last summer, I prayed in recent months that God preserve his life (or better still, give him comfort and HEALING!) until I could see him again, to bid him a fond farewell and spend one last time with him. I was confident that the Lord would grant me this one request, and asked my dad to pray for this as well.
Still, it was not meant to be, and perhaps my fathers prayers to come home to God (and his desire that I not see him in his frail state) was more in Gods plan than my wishes. I accepted this ahead of time as a possibility, praying: Lord, as you offered your Son to us, so I too offer to you my father, that you take Him if it is your will, when YOU wish, Father.
I had planned to see him on Feb. 21 and spend all weekend at his bedside. But on the morning of Feb. 20, my mother called me at work to inform me that his condition had worsened, according to my brother (who was at his side) and I tried to get a ticket to come sooner but it was impossible. I left it in Gods hands we didnt know when my father would leave us, so stressing about rushing to him was futile.
At about 2pm that day, I was up at the switchboard at work, covering for the receptionist who had had to leave work early that day. My mother called, Tim your brother called. Im so sorry, your father passed away just a few moments ago (My parents are divorced but my mom was planning to see him with my brother and me over the weekend!) She told me my brother Patrick had been at his side, holding his hand at the moment he left us. Patrick turned his head for a brief instant, and then noticed our father had stopped breathing.
I remember feeling confused, and the first question I asked God was, WHY did you let him die before I could see him again, Father?
The Holy Spirit instantly replied, But he IS ALIVE. Hes with me.
And as if peering through a blurry, glass, or almost like watching something on a TV with bad reception and no sound, the Lord granted me an imperfect glimpse (for how could I behold the glory of Heaven in these eyes and with this mind?) of my fathers arrival home greeted by the Lord Jesus Christ with open arms, my fathers soul went straight to Heaven. I also was able to see figures I believe were his father, his fathers father, and his mother.
There was no sorrow, only joy in Heaven. Then I saw my father turn a moment and while there was joy in his heart, there was not sorrow but lets say, compassion for my plight. He could hear my cry to God. The Virgin Mary placed her hand on his shoulder. I felt a surge of compassion and peace rain down upon me at that moment. My mourning was mixed with rejoicing. The pain was soothing, for I united it to the passion of Christ, to His suffering on the cross. It felt like my dad had gotten a promotion of sorts, in the Kingdom of Heaven. It hurt but I was GLAD it hurt. The love we shared was that strong:
For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:38-39)
They let me leave early from work. I was a mess. I fled to my other Fathers House, the Church, more specifically St. Patricks Cathedral nearby, and prayed and wept I bought myself a crucifix to commemorate my fathers birth into eternal life. I then went to the gym to try to work out (and cry in the steamroom where no one could see me). There was no rush to go home now; my father was not there.
I was happy to see one of the guys I know there, who knew I was supposed to go see my dad. He had lost his parents when he was around 20 and knew the pain of such a loss.
I prayed, and prayed and prayed. Once I got to my place, I put on some Richard Harris music, which transported me back in time to the basement of my childhood home where wed listen to those songs. Now all I could do is cry. I asked God to hold me for I could not pray as I should. Yet Gods presence (just as my fathers) was stronger than ever before.
I took a cat-nap, then left early for the airport (my flight being at 6am). I had never seen the sky over New York City look so dark pure blackness enveloped the city.
It was good to see my mom and brother again. Every so often I would cry, and it would be sparked by the littlest thing. We saw my step-mother Diane and her family and in spite of strained relations in the past, all that didnt matter anymore. We had a wonderful time together and reminisced about my dad.
My father had stopped speaking to three of his sisters (Patricia, Peggy and Jeannette-Yvonne) shortly after the death of their mother, and had only kept in touch with, and saw, his sister Hélène (Bunny) who also didnt talk to the other three. My father was afraid to tell them about his condition, for he didnt want to fight, nor did he want to feel rejection again. He didnt want to deal with that pain on top of the cancer. But he never stopped having sisters and never stopped loving them. It was his wish that I contact them (wish but not an order per se) after his death. His sister Bunny would not do it. In fact she was livid and cursed my brother on his cell phone when she found out I had called them. But they came down to the memorial service. They were so full of remorse and sadness, and even though they tried to remain strong as possible, they could not hide their tears.
Seeing them there, I knew that my father and they had reconciled.
He was like St. Francis of Assisi and a stand-up comedian. This is how my father was described by his friends. Indeed, I admit that is an accurate way to describe this man who brought me to the Faith.
It was at age three when I had my conversion and my first personal encounter with God. My father was intent on teaching me how to pray, and telling me about God. He gave me a beautiful wooden crucifix which we put up above my bedroom door.
We prayed together one night the Lords Prayer and that is when the Holy Spirit truly seized me. It felt right. It was beautiful. I was communing directly with God! I was hooked. So every night like this before bedtime I would pray with my dad. Then we would take down the crucifix from above my door and Id kiss Jesus good night. (I hope certain people wont call me an idol-worshipper for that!)
My path continued throughout school as such, going to catechism classes, attending Church, but most importantly, growing in my studies of the Scriptures (especially the Gospels) and PRAYER!!!
It was therefore, thanks to my father, Timothy Thomas Hayes, that I came to know the Lord, a debt for which I am eternally grateful, and a fact he knew nothing about until last year when I thanked him (after an argument wed had!) for always giving of himself, thinking of his children and others before himself, selflessly and with a love reflecting that of our Eternal Father and Lord in Heaven.
My father passed on to eternal life on Friday, February 20, 2004, at the young age of 59, after an on-and-off battle with cancer. Nearly three years ago, he passed out at work (due to a brain tumor the size of an orange, as well as two more ones in the brain, and two in the lung) and the doctors gave him only six months to live. Because of fervent prayer, in less than a year the cancer was obliterated with the help of chemotherapy and radiation treatments. The man never once gave in to his illness, standing boldly, strengthened by the faith he had in God.
He wrote to me in a journal he was writing to me, Jesus gave me this cancer because he has some things I need to learn. I havent been doing it Gods way lately, Ive been doing it my way, and this cancer is a wake-up call. Jesus is giving me insight into many things in my life and a chance to make amends.
I only read this after he had passed on. While initially he beat the cancer two years ago, from time to time growths would be detected but removed. However, since last September, my father was just overwhelmed by the treatments that were not having the same effect, and he decided that when it was Gods time to take him home, he would go.
Unable to visit him since last summer, I prayed in recent months that God preserve his life (or better still, give him comfort and HEALING!) until I could see him again, to bid him a fond farewell and spend one last time with him. I was confident that the Lord would grant me this one request, and asked my dad to pray for this as well.
Still, it was not meant to be, and perhaps my fathers prayers to come home to God (and his desire that I not see him in his frail state) was more in Gods plan than my wishes. I accepted this ahead of time as a possibility, praying: Lord, as you offered your Son to us, so I too offer to you my father, that you take Him if it is your will, when YOU wish, Father.
I had planned to see him on Feb. 21 and spend all weekend at his bedside. But on the morning of Feb. 20, my mother called me at work to inform me that his condition had worsened, according to my brother (who was at his side) and I tried to get a ticket to come sooner but it was impossible. I left it in Gods hands we didnt know when my father would leave us, so stressing about rushing to him was futile.
At about 2pm that day, I was up at the switchboard at work, covering for the receptionist who had had to leave work early that day. My mother called, Tim your brother called. Im so sorry, your father passed away just a few moments ago (My parents are divorced but my mom was planning to see him with my brother and me over the weekend!) She told me my brother Patrick had been at his side, holding his hand at the moment he left us. Patrick turned his head for a brief instant, and then noticed our father had stopped breathing.
I remember feeling confused, and the first question I asked God was, WHY did you let him die before I could see him again, Father?
The Holy Spirit instantly replied, But he IS ALIVE. Hes with me.
And as if peering through a blurry, glass, or almost like watching something on a TV with bad reception and no sound, the Lord granted me an imperfect glimpse (for how could I behold the glory of Heaven in these eyes and with this mind?) of my fathers arrival home greeted by the Lord Jesus Christ with open arms, my fathers soul went straight to Heaven. I also was able to see figures I believe were his father, his fathers father, and his mother.
There was no sorrow, only joy in Heaven. Then I saw my father turn a moment and while there was joy in his heart, there was not sorrow but lets say, compassion for my plight. He could hear my cry to God. The Virgin Mary placed her hand on his shoulder. I felt a surge of compassion and peace rain down upon me at that moment. My mourning was mixed with rejoicing. The pain was soothing, for I united it to the passion of Christ, to His suffering on the cross. It felt like my dad had gotten a promotion of sorts, in the Kingdom of Heaven. It hurt but I was GLAD it hurt. The love we shared was that strong:
For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:38-39)
They let me leave early from work. I was a mess. I fled to my other Fathers House, the Church, more specifically St. Patricks Cathedral nearby, and prayed and wept I bought myself a crucifix to commemorate my fathers birth into eternal life. I then went to the gym to try to work out (and cry in the steamroom where no one could see me). There was no rush to go home now; my father was not there.
I was happy to see one of the guys I know there, who knew I was supposed to go see my dad. He had lost his parents when he was around 20 and knew the pain of such a loss.
I prayed, and prayed and prayed. Once I got to my place, I put on some Richard Harris music, which transported me back in time to the basement of my childhood home where wed listen to those songs. Now all I could do is cry. I asked God to hold me for I could not pray as I should. Yet Gods presence (just as my fathers) was stronger than ever before.
I took a cat-nap, then left early for the airport (my flight being at 6am). I had never seen the sky over New York City look so dark pure blackness enveloped the city.
It was good to see my mom and brother again. Every so often I would cry, and it would be sparked by the littlest thing. We saw my step-mother Diane and her family and in spite of strained relations in the past, all that didnt matter anymore. We had a wonderful time together and reminisced about my dad.
My father had stopped speaking to three of his sisters (Patricia, Peggy and Jeannette-Yvonne) shortly after the death of their mother, and had only kept in touch with, and saw, his sister Hélène (Bunny) who also didnt talk to the other three. My father was afraid to tell them about his condition, for he didnt want to fight, nor did he want to feel rejection again. He didnt want to deal with that pain on top of the cancer. But he never stopped having sisters and never stopped loving them. It was his wish that I contact them (wish but not an order per se) after his death. His sister Bunny would not do it. In fact she was livid and cursed my brother on his cell phone when she found out I had called them. But they came down to the memorial service. They were so full of remorse and sadness, and even though they tried to remain strong as possible, they could not hide their tears.
Seeing them there, I knew that my father and they had reconciled.
