Stuck in Memories

For whatever reason, this year is keeping some curtains open.

Actually I’m in between days. February has become a month of emotions. I have birthdays, Valentines Day when guys are reminded to stay in touch with their emotions, and the day I had to say goodbye to my dad.

By this time 15 years ago, he was in a hospital bed with a broken hip, and a list of other issues that made him look tired; the kind of tired I had never seen in him before. It is the kind of tired that stole his last breath the day after my daughter’s 18th birthday.

It was like a closing and a beginning.

About a week before his departure, or at least it felt like a week, he was in a room that felt like the full definition of a stage to the next life.

My wife told me clearly and specifically: be sure to tell your dad it is ok. It is ok to let go. The very phrase "let go" is monumental.

I understood, mentally, but the heart didn’t want to confront it. To say it was to admit my dad’s mortality, pending proof of his mortality, and ultimately mine as well.

I remember getting the call on the only night of that week we didn’t eat dinner from a styrofoam box at the hospital. I remember what seemed like minutes after arriving sitting in the hallway and my daughter rushing in, leaning her head against me in quiet support.

Part of seeing someone departure is looking in the mirror. Regardless of your view of a next life, there is sorrow because the relationship is broken, and introspection after the questions. What is in the next life? Am I prepared for the journey when it is my turn?

On this day I think of what life would be like, my daughter turning 33, and my dad still here. I could spin a novel of rainbows and puppy dogs, but life is seldom that blissful and nice. It is an adventure.

For this season I am comforted in the good memories, and the hope and confidence there is more to life than what we see.