Dad

Three weeks before he passed away, three weeks before Tuesday 31 December 2013, we all knew where Dad was heading. We didn't speak of it but we all knew. We kept it to ourselves. Not out of fear; not because voicing it made it any more real. But I do think I was protecting my Mum. She was almost certainly shielding me from that particular truth.

One week before, I asked Mum directly: just how serious WAS this? I felt it was time. From her reply, it was clear that she wasn't expecting him home. Infected, his chest was just one ailment tugging at his already tired body.

Recognising the inevitable, the imminent, was a good thing.

When I last saw my Dad, on Sunday 15 December, he was as frail as I'd ever seen him. He was suffering, he felt rotten, he was groaning and miserable. I fed him a little breakfast and then I just sat with him, holding his hand.

This was an unprecedented act of intimacy between Dad and I. And then, sensing he wanted me to, I prayed with him.

That was the closest we have ever been, the last time we were together. I don't say that to leave a cloud of sadness in the air (although that is perhaps, unavoidable). Far from it. I see that moment as a blessing; the memory of it brings only comfort. And a smile.

I've mentioned my Dad a few times before. Here, here and here.

It's his funeral today. RIP Dad.

Comments

[wl]

sorry to hear. be strong ! hugs to you and your family.

[Devin Halladay]

First, I'm really sorry for your loss. I wish I knew how to console you (even if I did, the condolences of a stranger are likely not of much worth). All I can offer is empathy and a few prayers.

This is beautiful, heart-wrenching, and the most sincere article I have read in a long time—quite possibly the most sincere I have ever read). Your transparency in such a personal matter is admirable and amazing. This article completely tore me apart; then it got me thinking. I don't know exactly how you feel, but thanks to your article I have some idea of how I might feel if I am ever put in your situation.

I'm 17 years old and my relationship with my parents has gone from great to horrible within the past few years. Our relationship has gotten to a point where I'm not really affected when I hurt their feelings or when I know I'm doing something against their beliefs.

Since I'm so young, I have no idea how much time I have left with my parents. All I know is that one day they will die, and I will regret everything that I've said to them. Wow, that's a scary thought. Your article (I hate that word: article—it just doesn't feel like the right word for a piece like this one) has shown me that I need to make the most of the time we have left together.

I'm going to start actually trying—not trying, but actually working—to be a good son again. I'm going to make the most of this time we have left, so that if I find myself in your situation, I have no regrets. So that I can pray with my parents. So that I can know them and they can know me. So that when they die—hopefully not for a long, long time—I might feel comforted by the fact that I made the most of being their son; and that I was blessed enough to have had them as parents.

Thank you so much. I hope you heal more every day, but that those warm memories of your dad never fade away.

[David]

Sincerest condolences, Richard.

[Luke Tonge]

Touching, and powerful...as is Devin's response. A reminder that what we put out there can have more impact than we know. Hope you're doing ok man – as ok as you can be in the season. Amazing that you shared such a precious moment with your Dad at such a time as that.

Matthew 5:4 (The Message).

[Dave]

Sorry for your loss.