Losing Dad

Death is even more final than I believed. When you keep a vigil at someone's side, you know the inevitable is coming, but I don't think you can ever be prepared for that final moment when someone you love dearly ceases to be. There on the bed remains his earthly body that transported his soul for so long. Then, in one final breath, the body becomes a shell and the spirit of the man you knew and loved your entire life moves on to a new life...and you cannot be part of that life. My mind understands, but my heart does not.

I believe in heaven and I know Dad did, too. He was a spiritual man, consistent in prayer. Yet he was always understated; his prayers private as he sat reclining in his comfortable chair. He prayed for his parents, brothers, and sisters who all went before him. I imagine him now wrapped in the comfort of their welcoming love. Dad may never be proclaimed a saint, but he certainly is an angel.

Perhaps, I muse, God arranged it all (as God does). Dad died on the 6th birthday of his great-grandson. I imagine him as Jayce's very own guardian angel taking over from whichever angel previously held that slot. I don't think he could have a better one than Dad.

Things might have been so different. Each step that led me to Dad's side was hesitant...making the decision to go when there seemed no urgency...choosing the day to leave when so much made me want to stay...going to visit the day I arrived even though all my body wanted to do was sleep...choosing to stay at his side while everyone slept. A different decision at any juncture would have made things so different. We really are being guided day by day, but we don't recognize it until times like this.

Being at his side as he breathed his last breath was the saddest thing I've ever experienced, but I followed the right path even though I didn't know it at the time. The next few days will be a test of my endurance as we welcome family and friends who will come to offer their sympathy and condolences. My grief is new, but my faith gives me confidence. I will cry with my family and friends, but in my heart, I am at peace.

It Happens! A mealtime story.

I’m sure the noise level in the kitchen must exceed the maximum allowed by law.

The dishwasher is still running because no one thought to turn it on earlier and the dishes needed aren’t clean. The dryer is running so that the forgotten permanent press clothes left in yesterday won't get permanently wrinkled. The washer is re-washing the same load because the clothes in it have began to emanate that odor which only three day old damp clothes can.

As dinner time gets nearer, a little help is needed to get everything ready to put on the table. I call the children. The older two try to out-yak each other talking of things they forgot to say when it was quiet. The youngest, not to be outdone, raises her voice a few notches to be heard above everything and everyone else. Above the din, I get across the message that it’s time to set the table. Now the clatter of dishes, clink of glasses, and rattle of silverware add to the cacophony.

The whir of the automatic opener pulling up the garage door and the roar of the engine as the truck is pulled inside are almost unheard. The door into the den from the garage opens, and the man of the house enters. The look on his face attests it’s been a long, hard day, but that's no reason not to shout hello. His frown turns to a glower as he crosses the den to the kitchen and finds he can’t hear himself think.

Time for some peace and quiet. The dishwasher has completed its cycle, the other appliances are turned off, the table is set, the candles are lit, and serenity fills the room. The children sit at their accustomed places; dinner is set on the table and...

“Give me five minutes, I’ve gotta go upstairs.”

“Ha! Five minutes indeed.” but no words are spoken.

The family waits, chatting a bit.

“Aaron, put ice in the glasses. Cassie, get the soda, but give Rose milk. I’ll have water.”

Everything now done Father returns - within five minutes!

Everyone joins hands for “Grace.”

“Where’s the cranberry sauce? You know I never eat chicken unless there’s cranberry sauce.” Father glares at me.

The children grow tense. They know Mom doesn’t have cranberry sauce.

“I thought there was a can in the pantry, but there wasn’t, so we’re having applesauce, instead,” I reply casually.

Father’s face reveals annoyance. I go around the table serving chicken to everyone and as I approach him, he causes me to bump his glassful of soda - spilling only a few drops - as he flips his plate upside down. Annoyance confirmed.

“Ninny!” but no word is spoken. I place his chicken on the bottom of the plate. The children stare wide-eyed, first at the plate, then at me as I calmly sit down to my meal. The tension is so thick you can cut it.

“Please pass the potatoes and corn,” I request nonchalantly.

After serving myself, I pass them to the others who then set the bowls down on the table near their father, who, wonder of wonders, hasn’t stormed out of the room. Calmly, deliberately, Father serves himself potatoes and corn, and applesauce, and serenely begins to eat.

The children watch him wide-eyed with amazement, then look at me. My face is covered by my hands holding my napkin, but my twitching shoulders betray my delight. Unable to control myself, I burst into gales of laughter which are followed almost immediately by those of the children. Father looks once around the table, then sedately continues to eat his meal.

“Hey, Dad, how do you want your plate tomorrow, up or down?”