Dear Dad...

"All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on."  ~Havelock Ellis

Dear Dad, 

..I don't know why this has been so hard to write. We've been through so much the last few months - and yet, I can't seem to finish this blog entry.  Perhaps the words will flow easier if I say the hardest part first?

You died on Wednesday,  July 24th at 7:31pm.

There.  

Now I doubt that I will ever see those numbers on any display without thinking about you and the day you finally left the pain of cancer behind.

************

We all knew that the end to this awful journey was imminent. Your last remaining guests were quietly escorted out at 7 p.m.  After the room cleared, 3 things remained: our immediate family, the white noise created by the oxygen machine, and the unreasonable hope of waking from this nightmare.  Your breathing was notably shallow. Each breath ended with a slight flutter that was both rhythmic and frightening.

Is that what the hospice nurse referred to as a "death rattle?"

We decided to give you one last dose of liquid morphine to help ease the fluttering. We didn't want you to be in pain but unable to convey it. 30 seconds later, the fluttering went away. The morphine must have helped.

See, Dad? You always knew how to get what you need without having to state it.

We each began to take turns talking to you individually. We stroked your hair...sang to you...kissed you...held your hands. It was important that you knew we were all there - just as we have always been.  A circle formed around you - hands tightly clasped together to frame a man whose life was dedicated to each member of his family. The moment felt so surreal.

Now even shallower, your breathing somehow began to pick up a little pace.  Your core body temperature was averaging around 101 degrees. We all looked at mom, unsure of what to do.  Instinctively she leaned over and began to whisper quietly into your ear.  I don't know if anyone was breathing at this point.

Is this what goodbye feels like?

Mom placed a kiss on your lips - and with that, you released two final breaths then left us forever.  

Your departure was met with a flurry of overlapping sounds. We crumbled into each others' arms - finally letting go of months and months-worth of sorrow that we didn't know how to release until after you passed. 

The moments that followed were shrouded with darkness and confusion. The 12 x 12 room suddenly felt larger, more imposing. Lost in grief, I ended up by your bed and decided to lay down beside you.  I nestled into your left side and placed my hand above your heart - just as I have done many times before. It was weird to feel such stillness beneath my palm. Hard to believe that a heart as mighty as yours could ever stop beating. 

I scanned the room and saw mom standing in the doorway.  She looked utterly destroyed. I watched as she slowly made her way towards your bed again. Her face sank deeper in sadness with each step.  

"What did you say to him, Mom?" 

Mom clutched her hands tightly around your fingers and said, "I told him that I will always love him and would see him again soon. I asked him to walk with Jesus."

***

Oh Dad...  I hope that you felt our love.  We wanted to reassure you that in spite of our sadness, we were ready to escort you beyond the confines of your hospital bed. Where lavish buffet meals are comped - and special treats are set aside just for you.  A place where people will do exactly what you ask them to, and each lotto voucher is the winning ticket (every time.) We prayed that you'd soon walk free from the pangs of neuropathy. Best of all, we couldn't wait to have you surrounded by angels who have earned the right to welcome you home. 

Farewell, Dad. You many not have changed the world, but you've certainly changed our lives forever.