My Dad passed away June 30, 2024. On July 8, eight days later on a Monday, I hit the road for a culinary conference in Benton, KY, with my GoldWing, Roadman Camper, and Trek bicycle in tow. I drove two days through upstate New York on I-90 through blistering 96 degree heat-having to stop several times due to heat stroke and dehydration. After 920 miles I arrived at my college fraternity brother’s house in West Chester, Ohio, where I stayed for two more days before hitching a lift with my good friend to the Cincinnati Northern Kentucky International Airport Thursday evening to board a Southwest Airlines flight with a stopover in Balitmore, Marlyland. I had left my bike and trailer parked securely in my friend’s garage before heading home for my Dad’s Celebration of Life scheduled for the next morning.
I was using my time between flights inside the Baltimore/Washington International Airport to prepare my tribute remarks to honor my father at the Hampton United Methodist Church. I had been holding off on writing because I just wasn’t ready to say good-bye, but now with the Celebration just hours away, I needed to buckle down. I found a seat in the airport terminal closest to where I would be boarding my next flight on #4832 which departed at 10:50 P.M.
I opened my laptop and began typing. The words started pouring freely and so did my tears. I had to lower the lid on my baseball cap for fear that the other potential passengers seated all around me in the departure lounge might break my concentration. As I wrote, I was overwhelmed with a combination of sadness and grief. At one point, I was crying so hard, I was on the edge of sobbing and felt the tears dripping from my nose. I had to stop and wipe them away with the sleeve of my shirt, once again ducking from the anxiety of someone sitting closest to me asking if I might need assistance.
My emotional pain hurt – the combination of my grief and suffering paralleled the spiritual pain I was experiencing from thinking about not being able to just pick up my cell phone and hear my Dad’s voice on the other end. I carried on hoping to find some measure of soothing thinking that if I cried hard enough it may transfer to feeling good and ease the emotional pain. Perhaps it might even help promote a sense of well-being.
I could feel my words pouring from deep inside my soul as I hoped to capture all the good of my father’s legendary life and then be able to share it with an expected packed church attendance of those he had so impacted throughout his lifetime. The ceremony was now less than 12 hours away.
I remained confident that my writing about my Dad, who had been my rock throughout my life, would also be a way of maintaining my bond with him somehow in his afterlife, and allow me to cope with his loss. I didn’t want to stop this good cry but rather hoped to accept my feelings. I knew that some who may be attending may already have expected me to move on as Dad had passed just over one week back. Writing has always been my way of expressing my emotions and thoughts, but it’s rare to write so close to a loved one’s passing and be able to share exactly how we feel because our mind gets so caught up in the so many remembrances of life as it was. My mind had been bouncing in accelerated fashion from one reminder to the next before having a chance to fully relive each. I wanted my words to be a way of thanking my father for not just being a part of my life, but equally to express my love and gratitude for him at the same time.
Before I knew it, the Southwest attendant at my gate was announcing that my airplane was now boarding. I closed my laptop, sad that I wasn’t able to finish, gathered my belongings and headed down the passenger boarding bridge connecting the airport terminal to the airplane.
Ninety minutes later, we touched down in Manchester. My daughter was waiting curbside in our Fiat, and we drove 45 minutes home to the house that I had just left by motorcycle four days ago. I proceeded to lay down on my bed to try and finish my celebration of life speech. Onward I wrote sharing personal stories, a few funny anecdotes, and numerous cherished memories that tried to capture the essence of my loved one’s incredible life. At 3:15 am, I closed my laptop, and crawled into bed.
My wife, daughter, and I headed to the NH seacoast town of Hampton six hours later. The church was already buzzing with activity. It would be kicked off with a 30-minute Masonic ceremony and 40 Masons had shown up to honor my Dad! Wayne I. Elliot was a school teacher for 25 years, and he had left an indelible mark upon so many lives. The definition of a lasting legacy is the positive impact one’s life has had on other people – friends, colleagues, and even strangers. My Dad, Wayne I. Elliot left more than this. He was truly a legend in North Hampton, NH, and the surrounding communities.
By the time the Celebration began, the church was filled to capacity and overflow seating had to be added in the aisles. Those arriving late were seen standing on both sides of the stairs leading to the nave. I left my pew seat in the second row from the front and headed to the microphone. The agenda called for me to follow my older brother. By the time I reached the microphone, I had to ask for a moment from the audience to collect my tears. As I began, I tried to incorporate the congregation into my speech to allow them to feel like they were part of the service instead of having them just sit and listen. I unveiled a series of questions in hopes of helping them, and me, each find a deeper connection.
My first question – if you were a student of Wayne I. Elliot, please raise your hand. Over one third in attendance did so and I asked everyone to look around as I proceeded so that all could fully grasp the moment. There was a kinesthetic reaction. Many gasped at the incredible number of Dad’s former pupils that lined the rows of pews. Next question – who drove from out of state to be there…another 30 hands flew into the air. I had their attention. How many flew by airplane to attend? Three more including one from Oregon – all the way across the country! That former student expressed to me later that Dad was like the father he never had. Next, how many direct family members that Mom and Dad had created. Dad was 95 when he passed and Mom four years ago, so the several generations of the Elliot section of the church toward the front left from where I stood behind the podium all raised their hands. When many only lifted their arms part way above their heads, I told them this was for Dad and all those Elliot’s he had created and to get their hands high into the air to proudly honor their fallen patriarch. It garnered many smiles and some laughs. And finally, if Wayne I Elliot made a difference in your life, your children’s lives, or your grand-children’s lives, please stand up. It was a moment to behold, and one that Dad was no doubt taking in from high above. His spirit must have been soaring.
As I struggled several times to get through my remembrance speech, I made it through in my own uniquely personal way and tried to make it as sincere and memorable as possible in an effort to stir the minds of Dads followers and to help conjure positive memories of my Dad for each individual listening.
I finished and returned to my seat with my family, but not before touching my lips, then my heart, and passing that along to the framed photo of my Mom and Dad gracing the altar. I took a couple of deep breaths as I sat, somewhat relieved that this part of the service was over. From the time leading up to Dad’s passing, to him taking his final breath, to the post-passing intense grief and sadness, it had been overwhelming. There was no doubt still some denial. I knew that I would be returning to Ohio that night to resume my trip. But the crying wasn’t over, nor was the 90 plus degree fan-less conditions where people congregated downstairs in the church to hug, laugh, cry, and reminisce about my Dad’s life. I never had a chance to take a bite of any of the post celebration foods that had been prepared for by the church women’s group. There was a continuous flow of greeters. Tears, laughter, and excited voices filled the air. So many former classmates and friends, and family – some of whom I hadn’t seen in over 30 years, and it continued for two hours!
As we wound down and then got into the car to the airport, I was already feeling the healing power harnessed by the life celebration. I began to foster acceptance of the inevitable – that my father would never again be a physical part of my life. Rather, I would now concentrate on dedicating the rest of my motorcycle trip to salute the individuality and life experiences of my dearly departed. I wanted to take the memory of my loved one with me. He would be joining my Mom, who passed four years ago in 2020, and me on my ride south to Benton KY for my conference.
After saying my good-byes and offering hugs to my wife and daughter, I boarded my Southwest plane and returned via the same route as I had the night before, Manchester to Baltimore for a layover, and then on to Cincinnati. I was exhausted from a whirlwind week, and fell asleep on both flights. My friend picked me up in Ohio’s Queen City and we drove the 45 minutes back to West Chester. We both had had a long week so we called it a night and said we would catch up in the morning.
Following a send-off breakfast of scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, and two glasses of water to hydrate for the impending 90 degree traveling conditions on I75 south to Benton, I thanked my friend and his wife for their kindness and hospitality, jumped on board my two wheels, waved good-bye and headed south for the 321-mile leg of the journey.
I always try to knock out a solid chunk of mileage on the first ride of a day on a long trip. I was not only trying to beat the midday heat, but one’s body physically feels a lot stronger than at the end of a day having sat for hours in the same spot for hours on a motorcycle. A little over two hours later and 147 miles south, I pulled into the NY Mart gas station in Shepherdsville, KY. It was my longest non-stop stretch of the journey. I filled my tank, and rather than hydrate and grab a snack here, I decided to drive on until I could find the next rest area, and hopefully a little shade. The temperature had already zoomed to 90 degrees. With my helmet on, the exhaust from the vehicles traveling in front of me on a rather unusually busy traffic Saturday, and increased degrees from the hot pavement, it made for a challenging run.
I pulled into the car lane of the Bulitt County Welcome Center on I-65 South, and spotted one small tree on the left alongside a curb. It had just enough shade to support my motorcycle and trailer. I removed my helmet and placed it on the driver’s seat. I finished my water in my drink holder near my hand clutch on the left side. I opened my trunk on the rear of the bike and pulled out the remainder of a container of strawberries from the previous day’s celebration. I grabbed a gatorade that was packed in ice in my cooler and watched as other vehicles passed me by to find parking spots located 75 yards further down in front of the service area.
I reached into my pocket and removed my Dad’s memorial card that had his photograph on the front side graced with the red, white, and blue colors of a wind-blown American flag (Dad was a Marine). The reverse side had In Loving Memory, July 17, 1928 – June 30, 1924). Below that was one of Dad’s favorite poems.
Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free
I’m following the path God laid for me.
I took his hand when I heard him call
I turned my back and left it all.
I could not stay another day
To laugh, to love, to work, or play.
Tasks undone must stay that way.
I found that peace at close of day.
If my parting has left a void
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss,
Ah, yes, these things I too will miss.
Be not burdened with times of sorrow
I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.
My life’s been full, I’ve savored much,
Good friends, good times, a loved one’s touch.
Perhaps my time seemed all too brief,
Don’t lengthen it now with undue grief.
Lift up your hearts and share with me
God wanted me now: He set me free.
I had been wanting to add the laminated Remembrance card which I had been carrying with me from the previous day to a plastic bag that I had in the right front glove compartment in front of my handlebar which also held a photograph of my Mom. I have carried Mom with me on all of my journeys since her passing on September 7, 2020. It had always comforted me.
Just then a Monarch butterfly floated gracefully into view and perched on the lower section of my front bicycle tire. I watched as it gracefully spread its wings, opening then closing quickly as though to tease me with its contrasting colors of black and orange beauty. Its distinct black body with white speckles had not yet reached its potential prime wingspan of five inches. It’s hard to say if it had reached its final summer destination on its northward journey from overwintering in Mexico.
At one point it repositioned itself to align with the wings of my Two Wheel Dreamer logo on the front side of my trailer. Five minutes went by and it decided to relocate on the top of my helmet which I had now moved to my passenger seat. And it was now that I realized this butterfly may be sending me a message. A Monarch butterfly’s arrival symbolizes the return of the souls of the departed. In Mexico it coincides with the Mexican Day of the Dead, which is a celebration of loved ones who have passed away. Monarchs can represent transformation and rebirth. They are also viewed as a sign of upcoming change and a new direction in life. They can journey up to 3,000 miles and when seen can be an inspirational sign of strength and endurance.
I moved closer as it appeared to be speaking to me, even positioned to be facing me and looking in my direction. It had a bounce to it as it thermal upward and then down landing on my right handlebar. It then took off again but only 10 feet away into the tree that was providing me shade. It never left my sight, nor did it lose sight of me. It was speaking without words. That spiritual connection.
Through its life, the monarch can face a lot of challenges, including climate change and deforestation. That may be a tribute to them for being a symbol for hope and resilience. It would soon be leaving me to coast on its wind current to finish its 100-mile one day journey. The current would help it move quickly to conserve energy.
My Dad was returning to visit me and to comfort me. Those few moments revealed a powerful emblem of transformation, strength, and interconnectedness. It was Dad’s guiding light to my own highest spiritual self.
As I placed my helmet on my head readying for departure, the Monarch took notice and vacating its spot on the tree it quickly flew down to make just quick pause landings on my luggage rack, top of my passenger seat, top of my seat, top of the windshield before touching my left shoulder and floating gracefully out of view behind me. I straddled the driver’s seat, not wanting to leave, but knowing I had miles to go. I spun my head one final time and peering through my helmet saw that it had landed once again on the top of my passenger seat just staring at me.
I felt a surge of light within me as if it were sensing my energy. I felt safer and a sense of comfort. It was my Dad’s way of attracting my attention. He had safely passed on to a spiritual realm of existence. And I knew that Dad would always be there – now joining Mom – one on each shoulder – as my wings on my journey through life.
UPDATE – As I was completing this story at one of my stops in Benton, KY, a red-spotted purple butterfly (visible as blue) landed on my trailer just a couple of feet from where I was sitting. It continued to spread its wings in alignment with the wings on my Two-Wheel Dream logo. This magnificent butterfly symbolizes the concept of metamorphosis and rebirth. It is seen as a metaphor for the soul’s journey through different stages of existence, ultimately culminating in a state of spiritual enlightenment and liberation. The butterfly’s ability to gracefully navigate the world and soar through the air symbolizes freedom and transcendence inspiring individuals to strive for greater heights.
I couldn’t help but observe its graceful movements helping to cultivate within me a sense of peace and harmony. These messengers sent from heaven reassured me that the souls of my loved ones live on.