I’m writing this as my father is preparing himself to transition from this Earth into the expansive form of himself. I called him yesterday in the ICU to tell him how much I loved him. I could tell by his faint whisper of a voice that it wouldn’t be much longer. I had asked him several times if he wanted me to see him, and he said it was okay. I knew that I wanted my last memory of him to be of him smiling and telling jokes, not the frail shell of a man he is today.
I hold those memories close to my heart. I know I will be judged by my siblings of my decision not to rush to the hospital, but I have to do what feels right for me. I don’t believe in doing things out of guilt anymore, but doing things because it is out of Love. I chose to remember all of the things my father taught me over the years and it was because he loved me.
We all have a story to tell about our parents, though some may have a story of why their parents weren’t in their life. I was lucky to have both growing up. Being a writer, reflection is my pastime. I often reflect where I was in my life to understand where I am going. It’s within these reflections that I have grown. Entwined in my childhood were the lessons that my father taught me.
It’s a surreal time for me knowing I am here at this juncture. Knowing this is a normal process; we all must die. But to know someone’s time is bridging closer makes it all more clear to me. Reflecting on our life while living is the most important thinking we can do. I’m grateful for the times I’ve had to learn a little about this man and little more about me. Continue reading