
I am not Bill Hibbler and Chuck Hibbler was not my Father.
Well, not at first anyway. Originally, my name was Matt Kittrell. More on that in a minute.
Dad passed away last Thursday after battling cancer for seven months. We buried him on Monday. I’d like to tell you a bit about how I came to know him.
When Dad and I first met, we were competing for the attention of the same woman, my Mother. This led to, oh, one or two conflicts.
Just the other night, I heard Dad tell the story of his first date with Mom.
My Mom and I were living in my hometown of Orange, TX. I was three years old.
Dad was working his way through college after serving four years in the Marine Corps in the Korean war. When he returned to the states, he ended his tour of duty training troops at Camp Pendleton in California as a drill sergeant.
Tired of trying to meet girls in bars, he turned to a friend at work telling her he wanted to meet a girl that liked to dance and play bridge. The friend said she knew just the right girl for him, my Mom.
He picked her up and drove her 45 miles to a nice restaurant in Lake Charles, Louisiana, where he wined and dined her. Mom was used to dining but not so much the wining. On the way home, Mom fell asleep in the car.
I don’t know about you but when a girl falls asleep on the way home from a first date, I take that as a sign that there’s not going to be a second date. But Mom managed to put a positive spin on things.
She told him that if she hadn’t liked and trusted him, she never would have felt comfortable enough to fall asleep.
Fortunately, Dad bought that line and stuck around. Mom ended up packing us up and moving to Houston. Well, I thought I’d won the war at that point. But Dad, who was one semester shy of graduating from Lamar Tech in Beaumont, TX, wasn’t about to give up that easily. He left school and followed us to Houston.
Two years later, when he married my Mother, Dad gave me his name and I became Matt Hibbler. So now instead of two of us, there were three.
And before I could get too adjusted to this new arrangement, the next thing I know, they bring me home a little sister, Misty. And I thought, “Great Mom, why don’t you just invite the whole neighborhood to move in with us?”
I did discover that it can be useful to have a little sister around. When things go wrong, I could say, “Misty did it!”
Dad & I continued to clash. At first, I tried to escape. I played baseball & football. But then Dad would volunteer to be a coach on the team. You may recall me mentioning that Dad was a former Marine Corps drill sergeant and that’s who he resembled when he was coaching. Yikes.
So I quit playing sports. I wasn’t that good anyway. Like a lot of kids, I wasn’t quite comfortable in my own skin. When I went from elementary to junior high school, they had us fill out a little card with our personal information including what we wanted to be called. I wrote out my legal name, William Matthew Hibbler, and said I wanted to be called Bill. So that’s when Matt became Bill. This decision was not popular with Dad and for years, he refused to call me Bill.
To this day, many of my parents’ friends and employees think he had two sons because he’d refer to me as Bill when I was around but Matt when I wasn’t. When I still lived at home, when friends would call as ask for Bill, they were often confused to hear him shout, “Matt! Telephone!”.
When we met with the funeral director last week, I joked that we should write that Dad was survived by his wife Jackie, his daughter Misty and two sons, Matt & Bill.
Eventually, I took up music. I grew my hair long and started listening to hard rock music. As you can imagine, there’s not a lot of demand for Marine Corps drill sergeants in the music industry so Dad couldn’t follow me there. Of course, he had a thing or two to say about the long hair. We had many clashes over haircuts.
In 1980, I took off with a band and rarely came home for ten years. We’d see each other for the holidays and that was about it. We got along OK but there wasn’t a lot of mutual respect.
Things took a turn for the better when I got sober in 1989. It was Christmas Eve. I’d just broken up with my girlfriend and came by the house after having been up all night. And that morning, I cleaned my side of the street and Dad cleaned his. We did a lot of mending that day and I don’t think we ever had a cross word for each other again. Still, as human beings, we seemed as dissimilar as two people can be.
Then one day, a funny thing happened.
I believe it was in 1994. At the time, I was publishing a music industry directory in Houston and I shared an office with my friend Pat O’Bryan.
I remember it was a Saturday afternoon and I stopped by to see my parents. Dad was sitting on the back porch having a cigarette. We were both in kind of a laid back mood.
“What are you up to?” asked Dad.
I said, “I just stopped by the office to look in the mail to see if there were any checks.”
“Any luck?” asked Dad.
“One or two. A few hundred dollars. How about you? What did you do today?”, I asked.
“I drove over to the post office to see if we had any checks in the box” Dad replied.
“Any luck?” I asked.
“Yeah, we had one or two; maybe a few thousand bucks,” said Dad.
And that’s when I realized that maybe we weren’t so different after all.
To the casual observer, it would seem like I didn’t take after my Dad. He was the country boy that believed in sweat & hard work. I was the long-haired city kid that believed in hard rock. He was the rugged outdoor type and I was definitely an indoor cat.
Dad worked with steel. In recent years, I switched from the music biz to computers. I could no more run Dad’s company than he could run mine. We wouldn’t have a clue what to do. I’m pretty sure that was by subconcious design on my part. The little kid still trying to avoid the drill seargent telling him what to do.
Actually, that’s another thing we had in common. Neither one of us could stand to have someone tell us what to do. That’s a common characteristic of entrepreneurs.
If you walked into my house or my office, you’d see walls lined with books. Dad only had a small handful of books. He rarely took the time to do any serious reading. But we both loved to learn. Dad just chose to do most of his learning through TV channels like Discovery, TLC and the History Channel.
When I was five, Dad gave me one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received. He taught me to read and write. This was before I started school. That’s one activity he involved himself in that I never ran away from. And now I’m a writer.
Speaking of writing, I rarely write by hand now but when I do, I print rather than write longhand. It’s remarkably similar to Dad’s handwriting. I’d seen his papers around the house and copied his style.
Another thing I picked up from Dad was how to talk on the telephone. This wasn’t something he taught me intentionally. I’d hear him on the phone dealing with customers, vendors and people that were trying to give him the runaround. He was especially effective at the latter.
I listened and learned. When I was a teenager, I started a couple of businesses and used my telephone skills to generate jobs. Later, when meeting them in person for the first time, my customers were often shocked to discover they were dealing with a 15 year-old. And those skills later served me well when I became a DJ and public speaker.
By the way, I think there’s a lesson there for anyone raising children. Children are more likely to learn from what they observe you do than what you tell them to do.
When Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer last October. I can’t say I was completely surprised. After all, Dad was a lifelong smoker; pack and a half a day. I think my family was starting to believe that maybe Dad was one of those smokers that lives to be a 100. Up until fairly recently, he looked far younger than his age. He’d tried to quit many times but never could kick the habit. At least not until getting the news from the doctor and by then, it was too late.
After that, I got home as often as I could. And we talked on the phone quite a bit. That was new for us. Dad was never one to spend much time on the phone. In the past, whenever I’d call home, Dad would talk for a minute or two, then hop off while I talked to Mom.
Now, he was staying on the phone. He didn’t always know what to say so he’d just listen. It was awkward at times but we stumbled through it.
When I arrived for a visit a few weeks ago, Mom, Dad & I had dinner at this little hole in the wall Mexican place we’ve gone to for years. Afterwards, we sat in the living room and talked until nearly midnight.
That may not seem like a big deal to some but it was a first in our family. And it was one of the best conversations we’ve ever had.
I was talking to Dad about the shifts in my business and how I planned to do more public speaking, something I’ve been increasingly passionate about. That night, Dad shared a number of things that helped me realize that he understood me a lot more than I’d assumed.
Dad weakened during chemo and radiation treatments but he never complained. He lost a ton of weight and began to age rapidly. When he lost his hair, Dad took to wearing his Korean War veteran’s cap. And he got one of those little scooters to help him get around.
Suddenly the Marine drill sergeant image was replaced by the type of senior citizen you see in a Veteran’s day parade. He couldn’t get around well and tired easily. At family gatherings, he’d usually have to leave after a short time or lie down. Was this my Dad?
May 11th, which happened to fall on Mother’s Day this year, was Dad’s birthday. My sister, brother-in-law and I got Mom & Dad a suite at the Four Seasons. We’ve been doing brunch at the Four Seasons for Mother’s Day the past few years and hoped to continue the tradition.
The plan was to have a party for Dad in the suite on Saturday and then do brunch on Sunday. Several friends and family members arrived for the party but, at the last minute, the guest of honor felt too sick to attend. We held the room, though, and he made it on Sunday.
After brunch, we gathered in the room. Dad was relaxing on the bed while his grandchildren played around him. That’s when I took the picture you see above. We didn’t know it at the time but that was to be the last celebration we’d have as a family.
On Tuesday, May 20th, Mom called to give me the news that ripped through me like a bullet. Dad’s doctor told him there was nothing else they could do for him. The cancer was spreading too fast. All they could do now was try to make him as comfortable as possible.
I packed my bags and headed for Houston. At first, Dad seemed to get better. The pain medication was working and Dad was carrying on conversations and seeing lots of visitors.
The whole family was there, including Dad’s younger brothers, Jack & Wade. We took turns taking care of him. We did that awkward little dance you do when in proximity to someone that’s seriously ill and dependent on others for almost everything.
Fortunately for the rest of us, we had Mom and my Uncle Jack to show us what to do. They’d been through all this before. It pains me to know they’ve dealt with this enough to be experienced at dealing with terminal illness but I’m grateful they were there to show us the way.
One night Mom mentioned that after a phone call I’d had with Dad a week or so earlier, Dad commented that I’d said, “I love you, Dad” before I hung up. He told her that’s the first time I’d ever said that. She said he was obviously touched by this.
Funny thing is that wasn’t the first time I’d ever said that to him. Maybe it was the first time he’d really heard me. Or maybe it’s the first time I’d truly meant it.
Dad had never seen me speak so I asked my friend Mark Ryan to do a quick edit of my speech at his Attract Wealth seminar I’d given a few weeks earlier. We got to watch it together at a time when Dad was focused and alert. I was really grateful for that and so was he.
Earlier last week, Dad really took a turn for the worse. He was experiencing a lot of pain so the hospice people upped his medication. He wasn’t the same after that and we knew we were getting close to the end.
One afternoon he was lying face down and I started lightly scratching and rubbing his back. He said, “I don’t know who’s doing that but it sure feels good.” I continued for several minutes. Dad asked, “How come I’ve never felt that before?”
Once again, he was feeling my heart. When I was younger, he just felt my anger. When things were better between us, it was more of a meeting of the minds. This was something different.
Thursday, Dad was having a particularly rough day. That evening, my Uncle Jack came to me and said that Dad was fighting hard. He felt that if I spoke to Dad to tell him it’s OK to go, he would probably let go and stop suffering.
I’d already considered the same thing so I didn’t hesitate, I went right in.
I told Dad that it was OK for him to let go. I assured him that the family would be OK. That we’d take care of each other. I told him we’d already said all the important things and that I loved him. That we all do. I told him there was no need for him to hang on and suffer.
Dad couldn’t speak and his eyes weren’t really focused. I wasn’t sure if he could actually see me but there’s no doubt he heard me. Tears welled in his eyes and he was trying very hard to speak. He couldn’t but I understood what he was trying to say.
About an hour later, he was gone.
I hate what happened to Dad but am grateful that I had the opportunity to help take care of him. We both learned a lot about each other in his final days.
I think we finally discovered each others heart for the first time. I’m sorry it took something like this to bring that about but a bigger tragedy would have been if I’d let this opportunity pass altogether.
Now Dad is gone but our relationship lives on. My good friend Gaea reminded me that I should continue to encourage Dad to let go and help him on his journey.
Before I close, I want to acknowledge my Mother. We tease her some times (OK, a lot) but she’s one of the strongest people I know. I watched her take care of both her parents until the end and now Dad. We practically had to force help on her in bringing in nurses to help. I don’t know how she does it.
I’m also truly grateful to my Uncle Jack Hibbler for his help and guidance during all of this. I didn’t really know him well before this happened. He’s been a rock during Dad’s illness and he’s taught me some incredibly valuable lessons.
I say goodbye now to Chuck Hibbler. He was my Father.
Warning: Declaration of Social_Walker_Comment::start_lvl(&$output, $depth, $args) should be compatible with Walker_Comment::start_lvl(&$output, $depth = 0, $args = Array) in /home/customer/www/ecommerceconfidential.com/public_html/wp-content/plugins/social/lib/social/walker/comment.php on line 18
Warning: Declaration of Social_Walker_Comment::end_lvl(&$output, $depth, $args) should be compatible with Walker_Comment::end_lvl(&$output, $depth = 0, $args = Array) in /home/customer/www/ecommerceconfidential.com/public_html/wp-content/plugins/social/lib/social/walker/comment.php on line 42
The man could cook a mean steak. I was at the funeral, and Bill spoke eloquently and (considering the 98F heat) briefly about his relationship with his dad. Touching.
God bless you and your family. I am going through a very similar thing with my mother now. Cancer first found in September.. having brain surgery tomorrow to remove a large tumor.. You and your family is in my thoughts and prayers.. Keep those memories fresh, and it was nice to meet your dad through your words..
Bill,
Touching, very, very touching. I read every word. Thank you for sharing from your heart.
Love and Good Thoughts to you and your family. Best,
Mary
Bill, I’ve been trying hard to control my tears man, what a story! I have faced similar trials with my dad and cherish the few good moments we’ve had together.
I’m so glad you got a chance at the end to enter into that sort of experience. It spoke to me deeply. It’s not the first time we’ve connected like this. Scary!
What you were able to say to him before he let go is invaluable. I have no doubt he felt every syllable. What an opportunity! A real Godsend, Bill…a real blessing!
That opportunity was a .
Bill –
I’m so sorry to hear about your father. But what a blessing you found in all of this.
Strange, but just the week before you were at the Four Seasons with your father, I was spending the night in the nursing home with my wife’s “father” (actually, her cousin, but he acted as her father when hers died when she was 10). He was one of my best friends too.
He was dying of prostate cancer.
What an honor it is to help someone make a transition to the next dimension. Like you, I experienced many of the heart-wrenching moments of losing someone, but also like you, I had moments of such gratitude. (I created this to him.)
Just a few hours before he died, I held his hand and told him how much I loved him and thanked him for all he’d done for me. He was beyond speaking or even comprehending we thought.
But when I pulled my hand away, he latched on tight and grunted loudly looking right at me. He was telling me it was okay.
We miss him too.
For days, we saw signs of him everywhere. I’m sure you will feel your Dad in your heart and your space for a long time.
It’s okay.
Thanks brother. I love you too.
David
Bill, your story of your relationship with your father touched my soul. My face is wet as I relate to all that you shared. I feel blessed that you chose to contribute to your friends and students in this way. You have a gift for story telling and that gift comes from love and the love that you feel for Chuck Hibbler and your Mom. Thank you for expressing your honest convictions and telling the truth every time. You inspire me.
Dear Bill,
My heart is so touched by your story about your Dad – thank you for sharing your own deep feelings and experience with us all. Going through the dying process with a loved one can be oh so bittersweet…incredibly sad and exquisitely beautiful, all at the same time.
My best to you and your family during this trying time,
Jessica (LaRock)
Bill, my face is wet as I relate to the beautiful way in which you shared the story of you and your father. You touched my soul. I am reminded once again of the power of love and its ability to create. Always write. Always speak your truth, and the rest of us will be the richer for it.
Bill,
What you said about your dad and your relationship was very touching and honest. I know what you have suffered because I have not only lost my father, but 6 brother and sisters, the pain is hard and it grabs you again at the oddest of times just like right now reading your story but I love that I had a life with them even though there were many hard times, and that is I am sure what you will do to, may God bless you and help you and yours calm the pain soon and only leave the good.
Beautifully said Bill. Stay strong!
Wow, Bill, that post must have been tough to write. Having my own experience with grief recently helps me empathize with what you’re going through. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family as you deal with the reality of your loss. Thanks for sharing.
Bill, what a great story. You and this man and this woman someone how arrive on this earth, billions of years old, at approximately the same time, and live a wonderful life together.
If you believe as I do, you don’t say goodbye to a friend who is about to take a long trip, or a parent or loved one who has started out before us on another journey to that “undiscovered country”. You say, “Au revoir.”–I will see you again.”
And if there is one absolute certainty in life it is this: life is forever. Your father has just gone ahead of you and when it is your time to follow, he will light a fire that you can see through all eternity and the light of that fire will bring you to him.
That is why we can sing and laugh through life’s darkest moments. We know nothing can vanquish us in the long run and that death is the great imposter.
Bill,
THis is truly beautiful. Totally teared up. I really, really get it, the anger, the struggle, the resentment, the discovery, the respect, amd finally the deep heart connection and love.
It is truly beautiful. You are blessed to have been Bill Hibbler son of Chuck Hibbler.
Much Love,
Amy
Beautifully written it was all about heart
Tears within as my heart expanded so much while reading your story.
Thank you for being so realyou write as if one is watching a movie
Many Blessings
Lisa
What a beautiful memorial to your father this writing is, Bill. Thanks for sharing with us, and many blessings to you and your family in your time of healing from this loss.
Absolutely eloquent, Bill.
It touches me greatly that you shared such closely held memories. Thank you. I’m pleased to know your dad.
Big hug to you and your family!
Bill, Your Dad looks like a cool guy to hang around and just talk to. He reminds me alot of my grandfather. I’m sorry for your lost. Treasure the pictures and the good times. Take care.
Thank you for sharing your story, Bill.
Tomorrow is the 4 year anniversary of my father’s passing at 83 – on D-Day. My Mom is almost 87 and I don’t want to remind her, or expect her to remember the day. They were married 62 years.
Reading your story about your relationship with your father helped me remember and focus on my incredible relationship with my father and to appreciate all he shared with me. I was kind of dreading tomorrow and having to face the memories.
Thank you for your beautiful expression of love, in sharing your experience.
All is well,
Nancy
Dear Bill,
Your story touches my heart and I find myself with tears of empathy dripping onto my keyboard.
It’s very hard to lose someone we love, and I am sorry for your loss. I know you are grateful for having the chance to see him off on his voyage beyond the veil, and I am very glad you had that chance.
Give yourself time to grieve — and don’t let anybody tell you how to do it. We each heal at different rates and in different ways.
Warmest regards,
Janelle
I’m sorry to hear about your loss, Bill.
I’m glad to hear that you had this precious time with your Dad to get to the heart of it all – your love for each other. You did a beautiful job here, relaying your memories, and I think your Dad would be very proud.
Blessings to you, and your family.
Bill Hibbler:
My heart goes out to you and your fimaly.
My Dad passed in the 80’s & he said things that I did not understand then. I now know & understand why he said what he said then. I like to say Thank You to him. He knows that I would have said Thanks to him at this time.
Your Dad knows things as well,that would be.
Rember the Best times, Bill.
My hart is heavy for you.
allan at
polarpax@yahoo.com
I LOST MY FATHER 21 YEARS AGO AND I AM SORRY FOR YOUR ETERNAL LOSS. NOTHING CAN EVER BE THE SAME AGAIN. NO AMOUNT OF WORDS … NOTHING … CAN MAKE IT BETTER. ALL THAT MATTERS IS THAT WE DO GOOD (IN YOUR CASE – CONTINUE TO DO GOOD) – FOR WHEN CHILDREN DO GOOD FATHERS AND MOTHERS FIND PEACE.
Bill, I’m also sorry to hear about your dad. I lost my father on March 6 and I know how hard it is to see someone you love become ill and in pain. My dad would have been 92 in September. He developed Alzheimers over the last 10 years. It is a terrible disease that robs someone of their quality of life slowly for some and rapidly for others. We had to put dad in a nursing home in June of last year and he and my mom were separated for the first time in 65 years and it was hard on both on them. The nursing home scene was new to us and it took us moving dad to three facilities before we found the one we felt would give dad the best care and it was only 4 miles from my mom’s apartment.
Dad also was a musician and even had his own band with his brother and friends in the 1930’s and 1940’s. He played the accordian, guitar, piano and organ. We took his electronic organ to the nursing home and for a few months he was the entertainer of the facility until he could no longer remember the music or read music any longer. He developed the flu in early February that lead to congestive heart failure. He passed away four weeks later the day after my youngest childs 21 birthday and she took it very hard.
I enjoyed reading about your dad and your family and I wish you all health and happiness. We can take pleasure in remembering the good and happy times we had with our dads.
Your friend
Ken
Bill, you ARE a writer. I am so sad about your loss and I’m in tears over a good man gone, and a good man grieving. I appreciate your sharing. your writing has given me a real glimpse into your dad’s character and life and I think he must have been pretty special.
Like others who have commented, I can empathize, having gone through the same experience with both my parents. Dad died in ’89 from cancer and Mum died in ’99 from an aortic aneurysm.
It just doesn’t matter though, even if you know what the outcome will be – it is still a shock to the emotions and therefore the system and it really, really hurts.
I think your dad and mum must be very special people indeed. They raised a person who I am so glad to have had meals with, weekends with and laughs with and I am so glad to know you.
Love to you and Lisa and all my best wishes and love at this very sad time.
What a beautiful story. I’m just sobbing.
I keep trying to write something to you, but nothing seems like enough. All I can say is that you’re an incredible person and I’m honored to know you.
Love,
Ann
Hi mate,
Real sorry to hear about your dad. Couldn’t bring myself to finish reading it all. It just brough back too many memories of my own dad (who died in 2001) and it’s still too raw for me.
You never get over losing the main man in your life.
Take care, brother.
Dave
Gee Bill, your dad was a Marine Corp drill sergeant AND a Taurus? I can see why you would have issues as a free spirited youngster!
One wonderful thing about the losing of a loved one is the beautiful way that families can come together, take care of unfinished business, and forgive and forget. You made your dad’s transition a beautiful one, and I am sure he is on the other side thanking you for it!
I lost my dad (a Taurus and a Navy man) who was born a year prior to yours, 21 years ago and we were in that process of coming to a meeting of the minds and telling each other, tentatively, that we loved each other, when he died suddenly, and I am grateful that I never had to experience any regret regarding his passing. I still feel really good to this day about the efforts we made and the time we spent together.
Thank you for this reminder about what is important in my life! And God bless you and your family!
My condolences Bill.
I still get a bit teary eyed over my Dad who has long since departed this world – especially on Anzac Day { a NZ/Aussie memorial day for those who gave their lives in WW1 & subsequent conflicts} – bloody waste of humanity. I guess we always hold a place for our parents no matter what.
Wonderful story, Bill.
It brought back memories of my own dad’s difficult passing. It was bitter-sweet. I think about him every day.
As my friend espo says “When their gone, their gone, so cherish you parents while you can”.
Sounds like you did just that.
Be well. Stay well. May God Bless.
Albert Grande
Hey Bro,
Tricia and I send all the love we can muster down from Colorado.
Give Lisa our best, and hang in there. We’ve got a few Double Maduros waiting for you when you’re ready to head for the mountains…
Bill,
Very few words can express the love for someone who has passed, you have it done it very well. This July marks the sixth year of my father’s passing. He was only 47 years old. I can tell you, that feeling of pain from loss grows into love and reflection over time. Stay strong and remember he is always there with you.
Bill aka Matt or Matt aka Bill, (smiles)
I am sorry for your loss, but through it all one thing is for certain: you don’t have a split personality to go along with your name(s). You can tell through your story that your Dad helped to shape you into the man you are today. Even though you had your differences, you came around to hold on to the good parts, and that’s what is important in the end. I’m sure he’s smiling down, reading all our comments and thinking how proud he is of you.
I find it difficult to feel what people tell me about strained relationships with family members because I was so fortunate to belong to a big, loving family. My Dad passed away almost 15 years ago, and I still miss him, but the love he had for all of us continues to grow into the next generation. I am blessed.
Through this, Bill, you are still continuing to teach and we are continuing to learn. You are blessed as well. I work in a juvenile detention facility, and just yesterday one of my students broke ties with her Dad. I prayed to find the words to share with her to help mend things before they get too far gone, and here it is. I am going to ask permission from my boss to let her read your story before it is too late. So, I thank you for you being so open and honest and sharing all you have been through. I am happy for you and at the same time, sad too. I do know, in time, you will be able to rise above it all and become even stronger than you are now.
Again, thank you, and God be with you,
Nancy Creech
Bill,
I’m truly sorry for your loss. After your post, I find we have many similarities. I’ve only met you one time in person ..in Dallas last year (maybe 2 years ago?), but I see now I wish I had had more time to talk with you. My prayers go out to you and your family and I really appreciate your heartfelt post…while you may think it was helpful for you to express yourself…it was equally important for those who read it.
God bless,
Jen Herold
Bill,
Thank you for a touching story, filled with honesty and love. Bless you, your mom and sister, and your extended family.
Buz
Bill, there is never anything that can be said that will make this time any easier for you. I feel like it has all been said. Know that life is a journey far beyond what we know just in this life and that your father is not lost to you but continuing his journey. I’m sure that he is happy and once again full of life and energy as he travels in a manner we can’t yet imagine.
Remember he is not lost to you and even though I lack the wisdom to explain how, you will again enjoy his presence and his love.
David
Bill,
It was a privilege for me to read your tribute of honor for your father. Thank you for sharing it. It was very touching. My own father is battling brain cancer right now and our family is walking a similar path as yours has. Thank you and blessings of peace to you and your family.
Tony
Dear Mr. Hibbler,
It was an honor to read the eloquence you shared about your father. Graceful, inspiring, and so loving. God bless you all.
Love,
Smita
I pray for you and your mom. Owen
Touching story Bill. Nan and I are glad you and your father had a wonderful relationship before he passed on. You and your family get the AboveAllisLove.org award of the month. – Chris Sherrod
As I was reading, it was if if I could feel what you were feeling while you were writing the story. Needless to say, my eyes welled up with tears, too. Thank you for sharing this with us. Something tells me your Dad is probably visiting you from time to time. Love knows no boundaries and is ever present. All the best to you and your family. Namaste.
So sorry to hear of your loss, Bill. Having lost both my parents, my Dad when I was only 13, and my Mom, in 1998, I understand the importance of meeting mind to mind and heart to heart before they go. Glad to hear you had that chance before you had to say goodbye to him in this life. But remember, he is never lost, because he will live on forever in your heart! Juli
Bill,
Thanks for sharing your life with your Dad. Your story captivated me from beginning to end. I could feel the love and Peace in your message.
Isn’t it wonderful to be able to spend time with family and experience the love.
May you be blessed in all you do.
Kim
Hi Bill,
That was so touching it sent shivers down my spine. What a wonderful way for him to depart with you being able to talk to him and cement your true relationship leaving you with long lasting memories. It was written in such a heart felt way.
Bill,
I came to your blog after listening to your broadcast with Pat O’Bryan tonight. I lost my father 3 years ago and know how this feels. Your “story” and mine are very close…I even grew up just 30 miles away from Orange, TX…my dad served in WWII and the Korean war. My heart goes out to you and to your family. You have wonderful memories and those are always beautiful and priceless. Thank you for sharing so much of this with us. It makes us take a breath…and realize what is truly important in our lives. Peace be with you.
Bill,
I am so sorry for your loss. I know how hard it must have been to write that whole story. Thank you for being able to share that with us. I think it really helps to talk about what happened and to connect with other people. It helps to let you know you aren’t alone or grieving alone. I am sure your father is very proud of you, despite any differences you may have had long ago. When you are alone and feeling sad, try talking to your Dad, I’ll bet he will be listening! You are a brave and wonderul person Bill. I am so glad to have gotten the chance to get to know you. I wish peace and comfort for you and your family during this most difficult time.
Truly,
Melanie Vertalino
So sorry. What an amazing man, and how great to have had him in your life. Thank you so much for sharing–you are in my thoughts!
Emily
Bill,
Thank you so much for sharing this beautiful story about your dad. Like many other have already expressed, I found tears running down my face while reading it. You are fortunate to have had this opportunity to grow closer to your dad before his passing. Like you, I didn’t have a close relationship with my dad while I was growing up and we had our share of clashes. However, unlike your story, my dad died suddenly from a heart attack at the age of 55 when I was only 22 years old. That was 25 years ago and till this day I still regret never having the opportunity to tell him that I loved him before he died.
My condolences to you and your family…
Marcia
Hi Bill,
I’m very sorry to hear of your loss. Your story did a great job letting us into your world, and it was a great way to remember your dad. I always enjoy reading your emails.
I hope sharing this with all of us readers helps you heal from this great loss.
All the best,
Jody
Hi Bill,
So sorry to hear of your fathers passing. I was greatly touched by your sharing on this blog. May God Bless and Comfort you in the days ahead.
Cleveland
Thank you Bill, for this divine gift.
You made me cry…
and cry…
and cry…
I felt your love.
I cried with joy because of that love.
I lost my father on April 13th of this year. I learned many of the same things you wrote about. I felt that same eternal unconditional love. Only thing is, my father’s passing was a very solitary event for me. We haven’t spoken in almost 8 years and we haven’t had a real conversation 28 years, I was 17. My Dad realized that day that I was not a chaste obedient girl but rather radical and unconvential. He quit communicating at that point. Clearly we both lost.
Here’s where your biggest contribution to me rests:
When I received news of my father’s passing (through the grape vine as he hadn’t communicated his wareabouts to me many years) I wasn’t sure what to feel – I had a lot of options here.
Having spent the last decade training myself in the art of gratitude I kinda just naturally went in the direction of finding things to feel grateful for within my relationship with my Dad. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was re-building my relationship with my Dad and he didn’t even have to be here. I cried just like I cried when I read your story.
Your discription, Bill, of the growing relationship between you and your Dad felt exactly like how I felt in that space of gratitude for my Dad.
You answered a question that was important to me that I didn’t think could ever be answered.
Like things spiritual in nature frequently have, there was this residual question: Did that experience/healing/dimesional shift really happen? Sharing your story with you, feeling that love you expressed, answered the question with a resounding:
YES!!! It really did happen and there is nothing more for me to do but love him and feel the love he has for me.
I too am beginning my foray toward speaking. I’ve learned many lessons over the years that may serve someone out there. This story has determined what it is that I want say about gratitude: It can heal anything.
Thank you for you intimate contribution.
Please know, you have my condolenses and compassion. If I can do anything for you, please just let me know.
In Gratitude
Kat