Tribute To Dad

"And when he shall die,take him and cut him into little stars,and he will
make the face of heaven so fine,that all the world will fall in love with
night,and pay no worship to the garish sun".

Everyone tried to prepare me for it: Mom, Alison, Kevin…they all did. With very gentle and carefully chosen words they would describe your physical and mental state of being, hoping that I would be able to handle the sight of you there in your hospital bed with strength and with as little emotional pain as possible. I love them and thank them for it.

It was not as difficult as their preparations had made it seem; I have seen ill people and people on deathbeds, both in person and in my mind’s eye. I have visited and prayed over people in comas, but then I went home. I felt the pain coming from their loved ones; I imagined how it must feel to be in the shoes of their loved one, knowing the person they love is about to leave this world forever…but then I returned to the safety and loving comfort of my own home. I would then call you and be reminded via your voice and laughter that you were still alive and here for me and for your grandbabies.

No, seeing you lying there on your hospital bed was not as hard as I thought it would be. Yes, I did break down in tears and I did say, “Oh my God” as I turned to my sister-in-law and cried in her arms. But my tears were not because of emotional shock due to your physical condition. The tears were due to the recognition of the facts: you were dying and you were never going to be able to be there for me, my brother, your friends, family or grandchildren ever again. I would not return to the safety of my home and call you on your phone. I would never again reminisce about my college years with you, or call you to tell you how Aidan smiled at Cole or how Cole made Aidan laugh. You will never again hear about how Aidan threw his first carrot at Cole. I can’t call to tell you about my friends, Cole’s playgroup, Aidan’s 3 am crying fits, or to be reminded how proud of me you are.

But more than this, even, the tears were because I recognized how much you loved me. You always said it every time you saw me, every time you hung up the phone, every time you talked to one of the grandbabies. But somehow I never really recognized it, or maybe I just took it for granted. When I called your hospice nurse Tuesday, and was told of your condition, I was updated every hour of how you were passing and could go at any moment. Several times, I was told that you would go within the hour, and after your breathing became more labored, your heartrate slowed down to the point of no one being able to determine your pulse, everyone said you should have passed hours ago. But you waited. They all said you waited on me.

I had my doubts about whether or not humans could choose the time of their passing. I had a hard enough time trying to imagine why on earth you would choose to instate a Do Not Resuscitate Order, and an even harder time determining why you would want to pass on in this manner, not to mention how come you were still lingering on after my mother told you that if you needed to go, we all understood. But you hung on…and days later, when no pulse was available to be charted, you were still alive.

Driving three days and nights across the United States was no easy venture and took it’s toll on my husband and I. But what brought me to tears was this. You waited on me. I never knew how special I was to you, until you gave me the gift of closure by waiting until I could be at your bedside to pass on. I walked in at 4:59am. I walked into your room and grabbed your hand. Dad, I sure wish I had been strong enough at that point to say more to you than I did. I am not sure what came out of my mouth at the time, and there were many things I wanted to say but could not. What came out was something like, “Hey Champ, I hear you are holding on for me. You sure are hanging in there well.” Ahh…yeah stupid, I know, but it was the only thing I was strong enough to say at that time. I then grabbed your hand, and my brother, who was never a man of many words, took over. With strength, and dignity, he helped you pass. He said, “Ok Dad she is here now. I know this is what you have been waiting for. She is right here holding your hand. So you can go anytime you want now. We love you Daddy. It’s ok, go on. We love you Daddy”. And you opened your eyes just enough for me to see you, but you could not look at me. Then your breathing slowed down. Slowly, you took your last breaths, and on the very last breath you squeezed my hand, and I watched you leave. I saw your spirit leave your body and stand by me, smiling. I felt you touch my shoulder, and then I felt a love I have never felt before. It was as if all the love you have ever felt for me, Kevin, Mom and the babies was all combined into an unconditional love…wrapped in this one abstract little bundle; a present for us to feel just as you were taking your leave to a better place. And at 5:03am, you were gone.

We all know you are happier where you are now, Dad. But many of us feel as if we did not have enough time for you. I know you want us to let you go, and to move on in happy remembrance of you, and we will. But give us some time, because for some of us, especially for myself, we just were not ready to let you go. In that selfishness and love that we still have, we remain in hopes of hearing your laughter or seeing you pick up Cole and Aidan one last time.

There are many things I could have and should have said to you. If I had the strength, I would have told you I love you, and that I will be okay and that the babies love you, too. Please forgive me for not being able to say the many things you know I wanted to say. Kevin, the brother I thought I came to shelter, took me under his wing and said what I wanted to say. And I know you know this and understand it.

But we love you and remember you laughing, smiling, watching your nascar and fishing with Kevin. I remember you for your love of reading, good movies, sports and cat naps in the late afternoons. I remember you for your love of early morning runs, and later afternoon strolls with the kids. I remember you for all of this and so much more, and you will never be forgotten.

Love always,
Your daughter Pamela