This thing that had happened is fresh, perplexing, unnerving, and permanent. I have lost my dad. The actual time and date was August 7, 2007 at 10:35 pm. I was laying in bed, unable to sleep because I was unable to shut off my mind, and my phone rand. As soon as I saw who was calling, I handed the phone to Matt. I already knew what she had to say. It was my step mom and my dad was gone. She said that he just stopped breathing, as if he fell asleep. I cannot describe to you the feelings that followed. But I'll try. Relief. Disbelief. Anger. Fear. Sadness. Guilt. Silence. We got out of bed, put on our clothes and headed over to the Clare House. For any of you who haven't heard me talk about this place, you need to check it out. If ever there was a worthy cause, this is it. www.Clarehouse.org. The three days following were a total blur. Planning a funeral is similar to planning a wedding. Minus the joy, excitement, smiling, and lookng forward to a vacation. It's basically all of the details crammed into three days with grief and anger instead of happiness. Over all it's exhausting.
Something that I haven't quite wrapped my head around yet is that I saw my dad not breathing. There's something funny about seeing someone that you love as a, well, corpse. The mind has a way of compensating for their lack of breathing, and the eyes play tricks on you. So, while I was sitting there looking at my dad, he still looked like he had when I had seen him the day before. Peaceful, sleeping. Only he was also oddly vacant. Dad wasn't really in there. And I think that's the reason that people never look quite the same dead as they do alive. After they embalmed dad and got him ready, we started the viewing the following morning. The first thing I thought was, that's not dad. And it wasn't. I'm sure he was experiencing something sublime as I was at the height of my grief. If I envision it, I see him in heaven as someone young again, around the age of thirty. Let me just tell you, if you weren't at the service, or haven't seen pictures of my dad around that time- he was devestatingly good looking. Could've been a movie star. I'm too tired to say more at the moment, but here is what I said when I spoke at the funeral.
I honestly don’t know where to begin. Throughout my life, dad has been a strong force and sometimes a force to be reckoned with. I will walk away from today with more memories and life skills than I could have ever dreamed of receiving in my short 23 years with dad. One of the very first things that dad taught me was how to love coffee. One of my earliest memories is of getting dad a refill on Saturday morning. He loved to stay in bed and read the paper, and it was my job (with mom’s help) to fetch him more of that wonderful drink. Later in my life we would meet at a coffee shop down the street from my house and talk over steaming mugs.
There are many things that many people loved about Bill Newport, and these things are what have taught me some of my greatest life lessons. We all know that dad had a sort of charisma that could light up a room. I’m sure that as soon as he walked into a place people either knew him or believed that they did. It seemed that he left a lasting mark on anyone he came into contact with. Something that I loved about dad was his amazingly convincing manner. Dad could really sell anything to anyone. But it didn’t really feel like he was pitching something to you. It was as if you just sat down with him and the two of you came up with a really great idea together. And then the sale was done, and you walked away feeling like you just made a new friend. This was how dad taught me charisma.
Dad was also an avid electronic lover. Anyone who has ever been to our house has either heard the surround sound or witnessed the tweaking process. What sounded like the same noise over and over to others sounded distinctly different to dad. He always had his ears perked, listening for that perfect balance. This was how dad taught me the importance of the subtle things in life.
When I was in the second grade, I had a bit of a problem staying quiet during class. Although I don’t remember, they say I was a bit too social and talked too much at times when I should have been quiet. Needless to say, it got to a point that some punishment was required. Dad came up with something that was grueling and not quickly completed. He made me write a thousand sentences. Over Christmas break. If I remember correctly, it took me two full weeks to finish. This was how dad taught me to know when to be quiet.
My whole life I watched dad coach countless boys on the mat. I remember spending every weekend, and some weeknights, from October to March in a wrestling room or gymnasium. I saw dad coach all weekend long, from early in the morning to late at night. I saw him stay late on Fridays with the boys who didn’t make weight, encouraging them while they ran laps around the gym. I saw him celebrate the victories and pat the backs of those who didn’t win. I saw him give his all to the sport year after year after year. This was how dad taught me passion.
Over the past couple of years, dad entered a deeply reflective time in his life. Occasionally he would call me to apologize about something he thought had hurt me. Even incidences from years ago came into his mind, and there he would be, tearful on the other end of the phone saying he was sorry for whatever it was he thought he had done. This was how dad taught me humility.
Towards the end of his life, dad was in an immense amount of pain. I won’t go into detail, but just know that to know he is not hurting anymore is one of the most relieving things that will ever happen to me. But somehow, through it all, dad managed to keep his wonderful sense of humor. Despite what he was facing, and all of the pain he felt every day he managed to make us laugh. This is how dad taught me spirit. Bill Newport was many things to many people. A friend, a husband, a coach, a brother, a husband, a son, a co-worker, a husband. To me, he was one of the best teachers I have ever had. Walk away from today knowing that dad loved you, and always remember the things that he taught you.
