My dad was an exceedingly complicated man.
Bill Butler was, literally, a rocket scientist. He graduated from college Phi Beta Kappa, with a major in physics and a minor in math. He worked in the world of aerospace as a physicist. I remember asking him once, when I was pretty young, what he did at his job. He told me this story:
One day, let's say some guys came up to me and said, "Bill, we want to build a little globe that has people in it. When you tap on the globe, lights flash and the people dance around." I would give them a list of the best people to help them build this globe. We'd put a plan together, and I would check on them to make sure they were using the right materials and following the directions. Every once in a while, we'd do a test to see whether the globe was working. If it didn't, we'd change our plan or find someone else to help us fix it. That's what I do.
Another time, I asked him again to tell me what he did for work, and he told me he helped design missiles that shoot down Russian satellites. After he died, we read through old documents and performance reviews from his job, which included loads of redacted paragraphs and mention of his security clearances. I'm inclined to think his second answer was spot on.
Dad was also a brilliant musician. He was deeply involved in barbershop harmony singing -- as a singer himself, and later as a director and coach to many Sweet Adelines choruses and quartets.
However, my father had a very rough childhood. And it affected him deeply. There is a lot I could write about this, and maybe someday I will. But for now, suffice it to say that in addition to being brilliant, funny, and creative, Dad spent his whole life fleeing from the things in his past that tormented him. It took a lot of time and therapy of my own to realize that he really did the very best he could have, given the hand that was dealt him by an abusive mother and a father who ignored that abuse.
Dad died very unexpectedly in 1998. In November of that year, while our chorus was literally onstage in Nashville for Sweet Adelines International Competition, Dad was having a heart attack through the whole pre-competition pattern and performance. It wasn't til we got offstage, having finished our contest shot, that he said he should probably go to a hospital. He had emergency quadruple bypass surgery there in Nashville, and two weeks later, after returning home, he passed away in his sleep.
We were dumbfounded. My mom had been fighting ovarian cancer for a couple of years, and she had been in remission for some time. My dad's death came as an unexpected blow that rocked our family to the core. It seemed so ironic, so cruel, that he should die so suddenly.
There's a verse in the Bible, Ecclesiastes 3:11 -- "He has made everything beautiful in His time." And though it took me a while to see it, I eventually got a glimpse of God's perfect timing in all this. You see, shortly after my dad died, Mom's cancer came back with a wicked vengeance. It ravaged her entire body, and the suffering she experienced before her death was far worse than anything she had endured when my father was caring for her.
As I said, Dad had spent his adult life haunted by the shadow of his past. It made him an extremely angry man. He was very hot-tempered -- a trait that I've unfortunately carried on. We, his four kids, each had very difficult relationships with him as we were growing up. Dad didn't really "get" how to live with kids. He used to say, and God forgive me that I have repeated this so often, "Kids wreck everything." In some ways, he was right. Kids are messy. They're defiant. They're exhausting. They're difficult. And he just didn't know what to do with us. We were often a source of frustration and disappointment to him.
Don't get me wrong. I totally get that I am who I am because of Dad. Largely because of my desire to please him, I became a super high-achieving student. I graduated from USC, cum laude, with two bachelor's degrees (His response to this achievement, by the way, was a quiet, "That's really great, kid."). I was also the clown of the family. I attribute my sense of humor to figuring out, at an early age, that humor goes a long way toward smoothing out a tense situation. And again, thanks to loads of therapy, I really get that we all do the best we can with what we're given. So I don't blame him. But I can't really forget, either. It wasn't easy being Bill Butler's child. I think I had it easier, as the baby of the family. I learned early on how to avoid a lot of trouble, and I was very involved in the barbershop life, which kept me close to both my folks throughout our lives together.
But as we reached adulthood, I think Dad really began to appreciate us kids more. He figured out how to relate to us. And in the last few years of his life, I know that each of us reached a peace with Dad that was sweet and redemptive and so very lovely. His heart softened in a way that was totally palpable. He CHANGED. Big time. In the span of a few short years, we saw him soften and learn to take life a little easier. He began to pay more attention to his health, and he just seemed more settled and content than he ever had in his life.
Which is why his heart attack, emergency surgery, and unexpected death came as such a total out-of-left-field shock. And then, within few months, Mom became so very sick again. She died just six months or so after Dad.
But here's the thing I've come to know. If Dad had seen Mom suffer and die the way she did, I know, without a shadow of doubt, that his heart would have slammed shut forever. He would have shut everyone out. More importantly, he would have shut God out of his heart and life. He would have been totally, irretrievably lost. Lost to us. Lost to the Lord.
I know, I absolutely KNOW, that God took my dad right at the perfect moment, when he finally belonged to Him. He softened his heart, wooed him, changed him. God's timing in this, as in everything, was just perfection.
So, why did God let my mom suffer so horribly? Why couldn't he just heal everyone and make it all pretty and tidy, with a happy ending? I don't know. I will probably never know. But I do believe that my mom and my dad are waiting for us. We'll all have a sweet reunion one day soon. No more harsh words. No more anger. No regrets. And until then, God will continue to make everything beautiful in His time.
Dad died very unexpectedly in 1998. In November of that year, while our chorus was literally onstage in Nashville for Sweet Adelines International Competition, Dad was having a heart attack through the whole pre-competition pattern and performance. It wasn't til we got offstage, having finished our contest shot, that he said he should probably go to a hospital. He had emergency quadruple bypass surgery there in Nashville, and two weeks later, after returning home, he passed away in his sleep.
We were dumbfounded. My mom had been fighting ovarian cancer for a couple of years, and she had been in remission for some time. My dad's death came as an unexpected blow that rocked our family to the core. It seemed so ironic, so cruel, that he should die so suddenly.
There's a verse in the Bible, Ecclesiastes 3:11 -- "He has made everything beautiful in His time." And though it took me a while to see it, I eventually got a glimpse of God's perfect timing in all this. You see, shortly after my dad died, Mom's cancer came back with a wicked vengeance. It ravaged her entire body, and the suffering she experienced before her death was far worse than anything she had endured when my father was caring for her.
As I said, Dad had spent his adult life haunted by the shadow of his past. It made him an extremely angry man. He was very hot-tempered -- a trait that I've unfortunately carried on. We, his four kids, each had very difficult relationships with him as we were growing up. Dad didn't really "get" how to live with kids. He used to say, and God forgive me that I have repeated this so often, "Kids wreck everything." In some ways, he was right. Kids are messy. They're defiant. They're exhausting. They're difficult. And he just didn't know what to do with us. We were often a source of frustration and disappointment to him.
Don't get me wrong. I totally get that I am who I am because of Dad. Largely because of my desire to please him, I became a super high-achieving student. I graduated from USC, cum laude, with two bachelor's degrees (His response to this achievement, by the way, was a quiet, "That's really great, kid."). I was also the clown of the family. I attribute my sense of humor to figuring out, at an early age, that humor goes a long way toward smoothing out a tense situation. And again, thanks to loads of therapy, I really get that we all do the best we can with what we're given. So I don't blame him. But I can't really forget, either. It wasn't easy being Bill Butler's child. I think I had it easier, as the baby of the family. I learned early on how to avoid a lot of trouble, and I was very involved in the barbershop life, which kept me close to both my folks throughout our lives together.
But as we reached adulthood, I think Dad really began to appreciate us kids more. He figured out how to relate to us. And in the last few years of his life, I know that each of us reached a peace with Dad that was sweet and redemptive and so very lovely. His heart softened in a way that was totally palpable. He CHANGED. Big time. In the span of a few short years, we saw him soften and learn to take life a little easier. He began to pay more attention to his health, and he just seemed more settled and content than he ever had in his life.
Which is why his heart attack, emergency surgery, and unexpected death came as such a total out-of-left-field shock. And then, within few months, Mom became so very sick again. She died just six months or so after Dad.
But here's the thing I've come to know. If Dad had seen Mom suffer and die the way she did, I know, without a shadow of doubt, that his heart would have slammed shut forever. He would have shut everyone out. More importantly, he would have shut God out of his heart and life. He would have been totally, irretrievably lost. Lost to us. Lost to the Lord.
I know, I absolutely KNOW, that God took my dad right at the perfect moment, when he finally belonged to Him. He softened his heart, wooed him, changed him. God's timing in this, as in everything, was just perfection.
So, why did God let my mom suffer so horribly? Why couldn't he just heal everyone and make it all pretty and tidy, with a happy ending? I don't know. I will probably never know. But I do believe that my mom and my dad are waiting for us. We'll all have a sweet reunion one day soon. No more harsh words. No more anger. No regrets. And until then, God will continue to make everything beautiful in His time.
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