The Power of Presence

The morning of March 9th, 2024 I accompanied the hospital staff as they moved my father from the ER to his room on the 4th floor. It was just me for this portion, so when we got to the room, the nurses filled out the wall chart and asked me several questions about his condition. On the chart was a section that said: “My spokesperson is:” ______. I told them my name, Connor Torrealba, and they filled in the blank there.

So, as Medical City of Arlington’s appointed spokesperson for Eduardo Jesus Torrealba II, it’s my honor to be here to offer some final remarks and reflection.

“How do you sum up a life?”

It’s a foundational question in moments like these. In this season of loss, we are bombarded by the complexities of whoever it is that we are reflecting on. Their strengths, their failings, the things that made us laugh, the things that we will miss going forward. These are the things that we are forced to consider when dealing with a death.

In the Bible, it tells us: “It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, since that is the end of all mankind, and the living should take it to heart.” What the author of Ecclesiastes is saying there is that death should cause us to reflect and rise to the occasion afforded to us by life.

As I prepared for this morning, I asked for some recollections from my siblings. Some brought up specific moments like:

• Going fishing
• His constant prank of using a word incorrectly then saying, “English isn’t my first language”
• Playing video games with him late at night
• Going to the store for a treat
• His ability to strike up a conversation with just about anyone and see people as people
• Going to work with him
• His generosity
• Road Trips
• His presence when going through difficult times
• Watching star trek with him when sick

Perhaps the most common experience between all of us kids though, aside from going to work with him, as going on motorcycle rides with Dad when we were young. We each have our stories of this, but I recall two in particular.

When I was a young teenager, my dad took me out on the motorcycle and we went for a ride on the highway. As we zipped along, he told me to hold on tight. He gunned the engine. I held on for dear life and later wondered why it felt so fast — only to learn years later that we had breached 100 mph that day — at least according to him.

That’s not to brag. I was terrified at the moment and then horrified later to learn. Now it’s just kinda funny.

Kinda.

But when I think about my most cherished childhood memory with my dad, it was when I was around 8 or 9 years old. I was playing at a friend’s house and Dad was going to come take me to the zoo that day. When he arrived, he showed up on the motorcycle and I said bye to my friends from the back of the bike. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt cooler.

From there, we went to the zoo just him and I. It was so fun. I don’t recall any of the animals we saw — what I do recall was just spending time with him.

With Him.

Perhaps more common than any motorcycle experience or time going to work, is the recollection of his presence. Of being With Him. What we all wanted and appreciated most were the times when we were with him.

The power of a relationship is in its presence.
That’s the core.
That’s the heart.

Dad died on March 13th, 2024. After he was taken away for the last time, I left the hospital. I drove through a sandwich shop and went to River Legacy Park. I walked along a familiar trail to a favorite bench that overlooks a lake. I wanted some time to be alone — in a sense. But I most needed time with God — my heavenly father.

It wasn’t a Bible study. I just wept and honestly talked with God about what was on my heart. As I’ve come to learn, I felt a common feeling of “regret.” Should I have spent more time with Dad?
Called him more?
I wish we had gone to lunch one more time.

For anyone who as lost someone, this is really a grief over the loss of time and a chance for more. What I identified as “regret” was in truth a wish for one more day at the zoo. But, in sudden deaths like this, none of us could have known.

It is better to go to “a house of mourning” because it reminds us how precious and fleeting the time we have with one another on this side of eternity is. It feels like there isn’t enough time. Will there ever be enough time?

There can be.

God knows that the power of a relationship is in its presence. Just as we all wanted more time “with Dad” — that hunger is a reflection for our human need for “God with us.”

In fact, presence was the very thing that Jesus promised someone at the end of his life in Luke 23:40–43. This was the last passage I read to my father the night before he passed away. As Jesus was dying on the cross, he was between two criminals who were being executed for their crimes. One of the criminals cried out to ridicule Jesus, but the other rose to his defense, saying:

“Don’t you even fear God, since you are going through the same punishment? We are punished justly, because we are getting back what we deserve for the things we did, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” And Jesus said to him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”

…

Grief plays a unique song in each of our hearts. Dad bought me my first guitar and something you learn in music is that if you don’t have all your fingers on the right strings, you can end up and “incomplete” sound that isn’t so pleasant to listen to.

For the most part, the song of grief is a discordant one that does not resolve in itself. Whether you have a beautiful and fond remembrance of the person who passed or a complex and challenging one, the song confuses our steps.

Perhaps, if we wait long enough, the dissonance will fade. “Time heals all wounds” we might say. However, in my experience, not just in this fresh grief but in life generally, the presence of God provides the resolution and the harmonies that give the unique song a profound meaning.

How this plays out for me is this: My earthly father is dead. There are things that he and I will never experience together. But in those moments of bitter absence, my heavenly father rises to meet me with his presence and his goodness.

In each new chapter of life going forward, even if Dad is absent, God will be with me. We have a God who goes with us through the challenges of life and waits with us when all we can do is sit and weep.

Do you have that hope today? You can.

On that cross, Jesus — like my father, died. With some distinct differences. Jesus took onto himself all our mistakes, our pride, our bitterness, and paid the penalty for it. In himself, he put it to death. Unlike my father, three days after his death, he rose from the dead. Proving that what fundamentally kills us — sin, no longer has mastery over us anymore.

In his resurrection, he now invites you and I into a relationship with him. Not just so that we can one day have a hope of eternal life in paradise like the thief on the cross, but so that the song of grief and the song of pain would not be our theme song in this life. We might have to experience these things, but Jesus goes with us.

Because his mission was to bring us into fellowship with God.

This isn’t theory for me. My faith isn’t just a set of ethics and hopes for a better future. It is a relationship with a perfect father who meets with me, walks with me, and guides me every step of the way.

And it all starts with doing what the thief on the cross did — asking Jesus to be with you. Turning from your old way of life on your own and putting your hope and faith in the savior who suffers right beside us.

On March 13th, I believe and have hope that my heavenly father came to pick up my earthly father. I don’t think he arrived on a motorcycle, but he came to the hospital room and took my father on to somewhere much better than a day at the zoo.

We’ll never have “enough time” with those important to us on this side of eternity. I am thankful to Jesus that because of what he did on the cross, if we are in relationship with Jesus, we never have to say goodbye — just “see you later.” Because of Jesus, we don’t walk through this brief separation alone.

What will be the theme song of your life? Not just at the end, but in all the moments leading up to it. Will it be marked by incomplete chords or a full sound rooted in a savior who is with us?