Here, There, or in the Air

My dad, Robert E. "Bob" Cousart

This week since my father's death, many memories have washed over me. For the past seven years since my mother's death, I have called him every day. This week, at the end of each day, I've had a nagging feeling that there was something I still needed to do. Then I'd realize that I miss that phone call to my dad. The day seems incomplete.

This week, I've talked with many friends and family members by phone and internet, notifying them of his passing. They often shared their memories of him with me.

One longtime pastor friend from the Kittitas Valley Ministerial Association told me that even though they disagreed on minor points of theology, my dad never let that stand in the way of cooperation and friendship with the other pastors. He said in the forty years they knew each other, he always felt encouraged after being with my dad.

After my mother died, that pastor would pick my dad up from his residence at Hearthstone Cottage and take him to the church service that pastor conducted every Wednesday afternoon at Dry Creek Assisted Living, where Daddy had lived with my mother. When he dropped my dad back at Hearthstone, he'd say, "God bless you!" And my dad would always respond, "He does!"

Daddy on the phone

Then my dad would say, "Here, there, or in the air!" That was his farewell to us too whenever we left his apartment to return to our home in New York. He was always anticipating Jesus' return.

Many people have commented on what a sweet guy my dad was. He always had a friendly smile, words of encouragement, and a ready prayer for everyone, but no one ever felt he was pushy.

And he loved to sing and worship the Lord. During our last visit, he slept a lot. I did a lot of sorting through papers and greetings cards he'd received over the past 10 to 15 years. Whenever he'd wake up, he'd look over at me and give me a beatific smile. Whenever he was in pain or struggling to get out of his reclining chair, even with help from the aides, he would pray aloud, "Oh, Jesus, help me." Then he'd begin to praise the Lord.

He had arranged for a direct burial. Yesterday, we learned from the funeral director that he had even completed the paperwork for ordering his VA headstone with the phrase, "Looking for the Blessed Hope!" in the last line. That was my dad. Always prepared to go or stay. And encouraging each of us to join him "Here, there, or in the air!"

Here's a poem I wrote several years ago. I think this is what Daddy would say to us now if he could:

DON’T MOURN FOR ME

Don’t mourn for me;

I’m in a better place.

Don’t mourn for me

For I can see His face.

Don’t mourn for me;

I’m happier than I can tell.

Don’t mourn for me;

My body’s strong and well.

Don’t mourn for me;

Just plan to see me soon.

Don’t mourn for me;

Be ready—morning, night, or noon.

                            —AnnaLee Conti

My dad's story is included in my book, Frontiers of Faith, and was the inspiration for characters in my Alaskan Waters Trilogy. Find them on my website: http://annaleeconti.com/books.html