My father was called this morning, he no longer waits. My feelings are bittersweet as I’m so pleased that he no longer suffers, but like most, I wanted him to stay with me and somehow miraculously be healthy again. I’m so glad I got to speak with him yesterday and say those oh so simple words, I Love You. Sadly, I already buried my mother 14 years ago, so these emotions are all too familiar, my heart is heavy with grief and I feel so ~ alone.
One might ask, how can you feel alone when you have a great husband and two beautiful sons as your family? Let there be no confusion, I love my family and my life; but there’s a cord that is struck when a parent dies, you can’t help but feel ~ alone.
My Dad was the last connection…to my beginning.
He’s half of the duet that made me, cradled me, taught me to walk and talk, instilled my morals and values, and always told me how proud he was, sometimes directly, but mostly in subtleties.
My father was in God’s waiting room for three and a half years. He never had the chance to bounce back from postoperative cancer complications and later his cancer returned. It was difficult to watch him struggle, for a Dad is always the strong one, physically and mentally. He never complained. He was the consummate problem solver and negotiator for work challenges, having been in management and worked with unions for many years. He was the handyman whom I lovingly nicknamed Earl. At every visit to my sister’s or my home he would survey the land and see what projects needed tended, roll up his sleeves and dive right in. Continue reading