Edward Robert Siemens III

It’s an impossible task to distill someone you love down to whatever word count the standard obituary adheres to.

Edward Robert Siemens III passed away peacefully on Feb. 8, 2022. He is survived by his loving wife of 44 years, Debra Siemens and his nine children—Hannah Tung, Edward Siemens IV, Michael Siemens, Rachel Siemens, Phillip Siemens, Peter Black, Daniel Siemens-Lauer, Abel Siemens and Ina Siemens.

The amount of children he has would eat up half the word count alone.

It’s not enough to say he was a good dad. A devoted husband. A man of impeccable taste with an artist’s heart. A great head of hair. A vicious wit. A devout Christian. A '70s punk in a businessman’s suit. Self-deprecative to a fault. The list continues, but any descriptor fractionalizes what he means to those lucky enough to call him family.

I can’t seem to move beyond, “my dad died. I am so sad.” Each time I utter those words the inadequacy of the statement magnifies my grief. Yet, I continue my attempts. Failing each time to find the words to express the true nature of this sorrow I sit in.

My dad died. I am so sad.

It is the grief of a daughter who was lucky enough (providence in dad’s words) to be nurtured into adulthood by the rays of her father’s unconditional love. Who was taught what it meant to love their creator in a way that was unafraid of the world. “Man’s chief end is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.” Edward taught his children that mantra and encouraged us to drink deeply of what moved us. He believed that God wants his creation to reach fearlessly for what each one of us was made to do. That when you pursue what fulfills the spirit you are glorifying God.

Edward was an endless well of support and encouragement. To be practical with your dreams was to diminish your potential. And so he encouraged us to snowboard and travel the world, to build guitars, to write, to start bands, to act, to play football, to stretch canvas, to throw pottery, to carve print blocks and to do it all for the glory of God. With all of us knowing that we always had a safe space to fail into. If our dreams broke or shifted, we could always come home. Our dad took the sting out of failure and as a result he raised nine children unafraid to pursue even their most outlandish dreams.

Dad’s health had declined over the past few years. During those moments where his tether to this world seemed too frayed to keep him here much longer I would meditate on whether it was better to let my heart break a little at a time so that it would hurt less when his cord finally snapped and sent him whirling away to a place I couldn’t reach.

The day before dad died, mom taught me that’s not the right framing. Be with the people you love today. Don’t speak as if they’re dead when they’re still gulping down air alongside you.

She’s right. Why steal those moments of transcendence with the ones you love from the both of you? Heaven envelopes mortals in between seconds, where time doesn’t exist. Just the sweet burn of relationship. No past, no future, no desire. Just a single blossom of love to escape into.

Three books on the dash topped with a Stanford baseball cap.

Sitting behind the driver’s seat shivering because he liked to keep all the windows rolled down in the middle of winter. Dad’s insistence that you couldn’t actually feel the cold when you had a crisp push of wind running fresh across your face.

Fierce debates in the living room about politics and religion broken up with a joke.

Falling asleep in front of the fireplace to the sound of his voice as he reads George MacDonald’s Phantastes to his children.

Gathering around the dinner table as a family to share new music with each other.

Waking up in the back of the family 12-seater on a long road trip to eavesdrop on him and mom quietly dreaming together to the low murmur of NPR. Their fingers intertwined, resting on the center console. Mom laughs softly. Her face turned to his, watching him watch the road.

A request for a tall glass filled to the brim with ice and diet Pepsi.

So many phone calls and emails and texts where he patiently advised me when I was too stunned by indecision to move forward in life. Soothing my anxiety with the coo of “baby girl.”

Watching dad and mom slow dance to Van Morrison in the kitchen. His eyes shut tight as he held her close to his body. His head resting on her shoulder.

My private plan to cheat sorrow ultimately resulted in a cruel trick I played on myself. A naive attempt to control the impact of loss.

“Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” —Romans 8:26

Maybe the reason every attempt to quantify exactly what made dad so special results in failure is because I am trying to express a pain too deep for words to capture. I could list every platitude every human ever uttered across the expanse of time and I would still be unable to fill the chasm that death digs between the living and the great loves they’ve lost.

The joyful encourager. The perpetual student. The man who loved deeply–his God, his wife, and his children. In that order.

So there you have it. A woefully incomplete, insufficient attempt from one of Ed’s children to describe just what made him so wonderful.

My dad died. I am so sad. I cannot wait to see him again.