This morning, at 12:54am, my father moved into eternity.

The life he lived, was lived unto God. The legacy he left, lives on in me (and many others who were influenced by his life).

After his diagnosis, Dad battled multiple myeloma with courage to his very last breath.

Because of this, Dad has chosen to gift his body to UT Southwestern Medical Center to serve the medical staff in further research. UT Southwestern Medical Center is the same hospital where his first myeloma tumor was removed in 2008. As I filled out his death certificate and willed body paperwork, I was reminded how important it is for us to memorialize our loved ones in a way that honors God. Dad will not have a tombstone on a plot of land because of his desire to give his body to scientific research. And there won’t be a place for family and friends to visit. So my family and I have decided to capitalize on this beautiful opportunity to honor Dad in a unique way, utilizing the same technology that he championed in the classroom as principal at Honey Grove High School and Whitewright High Scool.

With guidance from Chris McIntosh, we have designed a “digital memorial” to the life and legacy of Kevin Von Weaver.

Our desire is that those who have been impacted by Dad’s life will take some time to reflect upon this and write a story or a memory. The memorial portal for Dad also allows the upload of a photo or video. We invite you share your stories and memories of Kevin Von Weaver at:: kevinweaver.me

The family has one request if you decide to share… please remember that Kevin Von Weaver is not suffering anymore. He is not here. These stories, photos, and videos that we share in this digital memorial are intended to encourage and challenge the living. In a journal entry last November, Dad wrote that he would like those who remember him to be able to simply say: “see you soon.”

May it be so.

I am honored to live a portion of the legacy of Kevin Von Weaver. The love of Jesus the King was so evident in the life of my Dad. See you soon, Pops.

Remember that scene from Home Alone (the first one) where the whole family is rushing through the airport to make their flight on time? The family running in panic through the terminal… The bags and children being dragged along… The yelling and chaos… The John Williams double-time score speeding things along… Well, that’s what I imagined my first missed flight would be like.

It didn’t really go down like that for me this morning.

Succinctly, a collective series of unpropitious events brought me to gate D-5 as the 747 was taxiing away from the terminal jet bridge with my empty seat. The discompassionate attendant at the counter informed me that I was “five minutes too late” for my Baltimore to Dallas flight. Five minutes.

A few phone calls, a flight reservation change, and a second security screening later and I am now waiting within the bowels of Baltimore-Washington International Airport for another seat, on another flight. I am flying to Dallas in a couple of hours to spend some time with my dad.

On so many of my previous visits, dad and I made plans for backyard croquet campaigns, watching our Texas Rangers, fishing ponds around the Caddo National Grasslands, drinking Shiner, and smoking large cuts of beef. But this time will be a bit different. On this trip I will be joining many who are caring for my dad while his body is fighting sickness.

My dad has endured much over the past 8 years in his battle with cancer. Three stem cell transplants. Numerous surgeries. Countless invasive procedures and tests. I have written about my dad’s story over the past few years; a story that has had so many amazing moments. Dad’s medical care is carefully watched over by a team of doctors, nurses, and professionals who monitor and care for him. In March, the team decided they needed to run a few more tests to sort out what appeared to be a virus. There are many hundreds of acronyms connected to my dad’s medical care, but recently, we have been discussing GVHD and CMV more than any others. Weeks later and the medical team is beginning to see some signs of improvement in my dad’s body.

When I missed my flight earlier this morning, it wasn’t some insurmountable obstacle. And neither is this sickness

And neither is this cancerous sickness that has taken up residence in my dad.

Sometimes we are caught standing in a busy terminal as our seat leaves without us. Flights get missed. Sickness invades. Tension happens because tension is synonymous with life. Arrivals and departures are part of the rhythm God has entrusted to us.

But, I will be arriving soon.