One of my fondest memories from the time I spent with Dad as he was (as we now realize) dying, was simply this.
One afternoon when I was alone with him in the hospital room, he looked up at me and said, “Kid, I can’t tell you how much I love you.”
How’s that for something to cherish always in my heart?
Yep, I’m one lucky girl.
•••
During the one night that I alone stayed with Dad at Hospice, the big ‘ole night nurse came up to me. “Honey,” he said, “If you hear only one thing I say tonight, hear this. Our God is a loving God, he doesn’t operate on guilt. If you’re down the hall getting a cup of coffee or getting a bite to eat in the family room when your Daddy passes, then you weren’t meant to be there.”
I can’t recall his name now, but I can see him. A big man that I surely couldn’t have wrapped my arms around, and at least a foot taller than me. Think of Hoss Cartwright, for those of you who remember Bonanza. But even taller.
As it turned out I was there, with my husband, brother and sister. But Dad died within minutes of Dayton and then Jan arriving. Seems it was really important that they be there. And Mom and Hannah arrived about 30 seconds after. Seems it wasn’t important that they be there. But still, we were ALL there just after.
Thanks Mr. Hospice Nurse. That was some really good advice. I passed it on to a friend whose mother was dying. She later told me that she found comfort in that bear of a man’s words (she was not there when her mother passed).
Mahalo Mr. Hospice Nurse. Mahalo.
•••
About four months after Dad died, I was lucky enough to go to Wyoming with my husband–to go skiing. On one particularly beautiful run, I thought of Dad. I was all alone (literally, no one else was on the slope with me). With the brisk white around me, I felt peaceful and calm. Above, the sky was a brilliant blue with just a few puffy white clouds.
“Come on Dad,” I called, “Hop into my heart and come along for a ride!”
And he did. I imagined his face in one of my favorite shots of him (taken when we were in London together in 1997) and his explosive laugh. Immediately, I felt chicken skin travel from my toes to the top of my head.
“So this is what it feels like,” I heard him say. I felt his pure joy and light course through my body. “This sure is fun!”
Dad and Susan in London 1997
“Yep, Dad,” I replied, “It sure is.”