Light Waves To Me and Light Particles To Others

He was light-waves to others and light-particles to me. My relationship with him was one way, the relationship he had with others, outside of the family, was completely different.

We turn onto the sandy driveway.  The old Haymaker Farm sign still hangs on the fence post–worn down from the Florida sun and washed out by daily summer thunderstorms.  The M in Farm has cracked down the middle.  

But it is still there.

This slice of land in the middle of nowhere Florida is where I am able to find safety, comfort, love, and freedom.  I try to remember the last time I was here, and sadly, I can’t. Life happens. You get busy.  Weekends are not as free as they used to be.  It’s not as easy to pile the kids and the dogs into the van and take off.  

But here I am again.  The smell of the pine trees, the heat from the Florida sun, and the wide open expanses of space greet me as we walk up to the kitchen door.  The dogs run to greet us barking and making their presence known.  Jinkx and Josie, the Leos, bark and run around us.  Hank looks on from a safe distance and Midge runs around and between our feet.  

We step through the little mudroom into the kitchen.  The aroma of beans and rice cooking on the stove greet our senses.  An assortment of alcohol is waiting on the bar to be made into mixed drinks–the drinks flow freely here.

Waves of emotion flood over me. This place has been a refuge, a haven for the last 20 years.  A place to just be.  All my kids have tramped through the fields and empty lots, going for rides in the Prowler or once they were older, the four-wheelers.  They have canoed and swam in the lake, played in the mud, dug holes and climbed the giant pit, and then fell asleep exhausted from the day.  My kids don’t remember a time when there wasn’t a Haymaker.  It feels good to be here. It feels right.  

Flashbacks of happy times flood over me, but this time, I am here for another reason.  

My father’s funeral.  

Now, more than ever, I need the warm embrace that Haymaker Farm provides.  I greet everyone, make small talk, and then, with a drink in hand, go and sit on the back porch to soak up the setting sun.  

My father passed away on June 16th.¹  My family and I were currently on vacation in the United Kingdom.  I woke up on the Isle of Mann to the text message from my sister.

The relationship between me and my dad has been very complicated over the last few years; I have written about our relationship in previous essays.²    Regardless of our relationship, his death came as a surprise.  According to my sister, he had been fine–until he had fallen a few days prior.  He was unable to get up without help and was not lucid.  The decision was made to call hospice then three days later he was gone.  Honestly, I have quite a few questions about everything–I may get answers in time or I may not. That is not the important thing now. 

The last time I saw him was at my cousin’s funeral in September of 2021.  We chatted, but nothing too deep.  The last time I really spoke to him was on September 26, 2021.  Many things–truthful and hard to say and hear–were said in that phone call, but I remember telling him that I loved him.  

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At the memorial service, I saw relatives I had not seen in a few years.  I saw people who I knew as a teenager in High Spring.  I saw people who I went to church with at Gainesville First Church of the Nazarene.  I saw people who attended the Methodist church while my father was the associate pastor there.  I hugged everyone, graciously accepted their condolences, and smiled politely.  I went through the motions and did what was expected of me.  I was sad for my mom, sad for my sister, sad for his brother, sad for his best friend–but I was not sad for myself. Or for him.   

Amanda, Asher, and I sat in the front row with the rest of the immediate family.  As the first hymn was sung, I stood there–reverently, but silently, with my brain going in a million different directions.  

The funeral was live streamed across the internet so that people in Brazil and Indiana could watch.  A Portuguese greeting was given to welcome the Brazilian viewers.  Based on the comments from the guests, the words spoken in his Eulogy, and the very fact that my father had been a missionary and pastor for more than 50 years, it was clear my father had impacted many people across multiple countries.  I listened as people told me how much he had helped them.  How much he had meant to them.  How much he had been a friend to them.  Even before the funeral, I read comments on Facebook that remembered my father as a kind and transformational person.  I struggled internally with all of these comments because I did not feel the same way.  

Sitting at the reception, following the memorial service, Amanda told me something she had been thinking about.  She asked me if I understood the duality of light.  Only because I had watched Oppenheimer, I knew what she was referring to.  Light can be seen as either waves or particles–both distinctly different–but still distinctly light.³  My dad was the same way–one person but with distinctly different relationships between myself and between others.  He was light-waves to others and light-particles to me.  My relationship with him was one way, the relationship he had with others, outside of the family, was completely different.  

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After the funeral, Amanda needed to head back home due to women being in their delivery window and Asher and I headed back to Haymaker.  It was a refuge and that’s what was needed.  What else was needed was a very large drink–which I was greeted with at the door.   

Being able to be at Haymaker and think about the day’s events, even a bit drunk, helped me start putting things into perspective.  I had things to process, so I started writing.  

In his homily, the minister said, “We have good memories, but realistically, we also have memories that may not be good.”   

He went on to quote Catholic philosopher Richard Rohr:

“Try to remember and give thanks for the good things…and the bad.  The important thing is to learn from both.  Dwell with the things that are not so good until they have taught us what we need to learn.  But don’t dwell on them.  Dwell by choice on the good things which also have things to teach us.”

I do have good memories of my dad.  He was fun.  He was caring.  He was loving.  But he also had other “not so good” qualities.  Like the minister’s homily, I have learned from those things.  Some lessons have been painful and scarring, but I have learned how to work through them and to better myself despite them.  And there were things I had to accept that could not be changed.  And unfortunately, because of that, decisions had to be made that would affect his and my relationship.  Sadly, the bad has marred the vision of the good. It’s not that I’m choosing to only dwell on the bad, I am having a hard time finding and remembering the good.  The minister might have been talking directly to me when he said that time doesn’t have the capacity to heal, but it is the framework in which healing can take place. I have taken time, and I will continue to take time.  

The minister ended his homily by encouraging everyone to embrace their grief. This is still something I am learning how to do.  It took me four days for the realization to really settle in and even then, my grief did not manifest itself in a “normal” sense.  This  grief is not something that comes easily or naturally to me.  It is taking willful thought and an intentionality that I have never had to experience before to process my grief.  Honestly, it is much easier to deny the grief and just move on with my life.  I am meeting with my therapist more regularly while I work through what this grief should look and feel like.

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Being a bit too inebriated to continue writing, I wandered out to the porch.  My belly was full from dinner, and I had no idea what drink number I was on (they just kept magically getting refilled).  I sat down, sighed, and just stared at this:

It’s going to be ok.  In time, I will be OK.  

1. I really don’t like the euphemism to pass away.  But “died” just seems so brutal, even though that is what actually happened.

2. I am not going to link them here.  You can find them if you are interested. 

3.  Light waves can be considered "two faceted" or have dual characteristics:

1. Wave-like Nature: Light behaves like a wave in many ways. Just like ripples on water, light waves can bend around corners and interfere with each other. This wave-like behavior explains phenomena like diffraction and interference patterns seen in optics.

2. Particle-like Nature: Light also exhibits characteristics of particles, known as photons. Photons are tiny packets of energy that can be thought of as particles of light. This particle aspect of light helps explain how light can transfer energy and momentum when it interacts with matter, such as in the photoelectric effect.

These dual characteristics are encapsulated in the concept of wave-particle duality, which means that light can behave as both a wave and a particle depending on how it is observed or measured. This duality is a fundamental aspect of quantum mechanics and is essential to understanding the nature of light and other particles at the smallest scales of our universe.