My Dad was almost 87
He died on Monday.
I cried on Monday.
I try to ease his pain by imagining how he felt when he died.
I was asleep in my chair. I woke to my name being called over my right shoulder. To the left I saw a brief bright light. I thought I was imagining things. 30 minutes later my husband related the breathless news that Dad had died.
My Dad wasn't demonstrative when I was young, but as we both got older his hugs got stronger and lingered just a little longer.
As his child, I believe him to be the most talented man I know. The beauty of the things he created is testament to his continued memory.
So I make the long sad trip home on Saturday and return again the following week. I'd give anything to forget it all.
But this is life. ... joy and sorrow are inseparable. . . together they come and when one sits alone with you . . . remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
