I’m officially calling this week over. Or does Sunday start a new week? I’ve never been 100% sure how that goes. At any rate, I’m emotionally exhausted and my introvert desperately needs time alone. As much as I love my family and was grateful to go through this week with them, it’s good to be back in my own house. At first it seemed selfish of me, wanting some normalcy, but I think it’s necessary, and human, to desire what seems normal to us. It doesn’t mean I won’t have future moments of grief, but I’m thankful for the life I have, for it really does pass by quickly.
April 12
It was a beautiful funeral today for my dad. Although it stormed outside, the atmosphere inside was peaceful. Lots of family and friends gathered and reminisced. My brother-in-law gave a very touching eulogy of the impact my dad had on his life. And by the time we got to the gravesite, the sun was shining. It was an event my dad would have approved of–a celebration of his life and not a time of sorrow and crying. I’m thankful for the love I felt today.
April 11
I was driving through farm country today and saw a beautiful sight. A field with new growth–short green plants coming up in rows. The sun was shining through the trees in the background setting the field aglow. It was a simple reminder of renewal. The seasons have changed. The sun is out longer. The air is warmer. The snow has melted. The plants are starting to reach toward the sun. Sometimes things end, but new things begin. Life is a cycle that keeps going, regardless of our difficulties. Sometimes we just need to simply hang on.
April 10
It’s been a really tough week. A week of endings. It’s hard to feel grateful when the heart aches. I find myself losing words. This is the time I usually turn to writing poetry because for some reason, it helps me focus my feelings. I am thankful I have that catharsis.
molten lament
unapparent in words
deliberate
so maybe wasn’t an option
sometimes love only goes one way
an ending too bright
too startling in its clarity
one infinite flash
fades to shadow
unrevealing
my masochist lingers there aching
for answers
already lies
best to untangle and float
through unthinking
now heart paste smeared
on paper for him to see
how thick my pain is
April 9
I took some time today to be outside. I always find it centers me to be out amongst the trees, listening to the sounds of nature. It was renewing to walk in the wind and feel the sun on my face. I’m thankful for the sense of peace that gave me.
April 8: Dad
My dad died today. My sisters and mom and I sat by his bedside all night last night, listening to his labored breathing, holding our own breath every time he stopped too long between gasps. He never woke up. So we chatted amongst ourselves and cried intermittently and finally, around 2 am, requested pillows and blankets and tried to sleep on wooden folding chairs. There’s something exhausting and guilty-feeling about waiting for death. The constant wondering if the next moment is going to be the last one together. Just after 5 am, when it was just my mom awake by his side, my dad simply stopped breathing. My mom said she had just told him he didn’t have to hold on any longer. He could go, and so he did.
I have to admit that when I first got the call yesterday that my dad had taken a turn for the worse and maybe wouldn’t survive the day, I didn’t want to go back to the hospital. It wasn’t that I had just made the three-hour drive back home, it was that I didn’t really want to face it. I wasn’t sure I had the energy or the strength to watch my dad die. But then I knew that whatever I felt didn’t matter. What was real was that the man who spent his life taking care of me and my sisters and my mom would be gone within hours, and I had the privilege to be there by his side. No matter how much it would hurt to see, this was a gift, to say a final goodbye.
I’m thankful my dad was a Christian. He believed that he was headed to a better place and had absolutely no fear of death. I know that made his final days easier for him. And I’m sure he was looking forward to seeing the many people he had lost in his almost 67 years: his own dad who died too early in his 30’s, his mom who suffered from Alzheimer’s, his brothers, his son, his best friend. It must have comforted my mom also, allowing her the strength to tell him to go to the others she believed were waiting for him.
The world lost a wonderful man today. A man with a hearty laugh and a deep love for people and animals and the Lord. A man of strength and honor and commitment. A man who loved my mother and her children as his own. He was my stepfather, but I never thought of him that way. To me he was always my dad. I’m thankful he entered my life so long ago. And I’m thankful I was there when he left so peacefully this morning.
April 7
It’s not surprising how the end of someone’s life brings family together. In the last few days, I’ve been able to see my aunts and a cousin whom I rarely see anymore. Not because we don’t want to see each other, but because we don’t live close and it’s difficult. I’ve also gotten a chance to see my sisters who are scattered across the country. We’ve had a chance to reminisce a little and catch up. I’m thankful for the closeness we share, even across the miles that usually separate us. When someone you love is getting close to leaving this world, the important things tend to emerge. I’ve been reminded once again that life is short and death is the only certainty. What we do on our way to the end is the important thing. Live while you can. Love gently but fiercely; live passionately but with dignity; forgive and move on. In the end we only have each other.
April 6
I’m thankful for another day.
April 5
It’s been another long day. There’s something about hanging out in a hospital that’s draining. Another one of my sisters drove in to visit. There was a point when all of us were in my dad’s room at the same time. Seven of us chatting while my dad dozed. At one point he roused with a bit of a groan. My mom quickly asked if he wanted water or something else. Peacewas his reply, with a roll of his eyes. Apparently, he didn’t like our chatter. We took his grumpiness as a good sign; he was a little more lucid today.
That also gave us the confidence to leave him to rest alone for a while. We were able to visit with my mom and help her figure out some immediate plans for after he’s released from the hospital. We met with a hospice nurse who was an absolute godsend. She was knowledgeable and extremely comforting. I think it helped my mom to know that she’s making the right choices for my dad. We are all thankful for that.
April 4
My kids and I visited my dad in the hospital today. My oldest sister and niece were already there. My dad has trouble staying awake, apparently typical of the stage he’s in with the liver cancer and the after effects of tests done today, so my mom woke him up to tell him that we were there. When his eyes focused and he was able to see us, he whispered to my mom, how lucky can one guy get? before drifting back to sleep. It makes me cry to think about. I’m thankful that he isn’t in pain and that the weeks left will most likely be more difficult for us than for him.
melissagratitude 