I know my dad enough to know that his “passing” won’t matter as much as finding out what’s on the other side. He’s always been a pragmatic man, very simple. His best wisdom to me has stayed the same for years, “Live until the day you’re not alive anymore,” and I’ve taken his philosophy to heart.
I am heartsick and full of grief over the impending loss of my dad. It’s a horrible way to die, even senseless, but seriously and I mean it: all of us die. He gets that. He would have liked the chance to live longer, but he can’t. He’s not going to choose bitterness about it and neither am I.
I swear to all that’s holy this one true thing: love will always compel me. That makes no sense at all, so let me explain. I’ll give you a real example. My mother is, on her best days, difficult, but she’s my mother, so I’ll take care of her in the best way I can. A part of taking care of her, and maybe more importantly, acting like a grown up is this: I won’t whine about my responsibilities. Why not? Well for me it’s this (like I said): love compels me. If I whine and bitch and moan, where’s the love?
I worry that my mom will not be able to face losing him. I’m afraid she’ll buckle and hide. She hides most of the time and Dad’s the only person she’s allowed into her life. Staring into the future and the loss of him is impossible for her, far too hard, so she gave herself a break.
Interestingly enough, Dad woke up enough to eat a whole bowl of Cheerios with sliced bananas. He drank a glass of orange juice too; all this from the man who couldn’t swallow the day before. See how we are? Two days ago I was sure he was going to die. Today he eats Cheerios. It doesn’t change anything, but it says something cool – at least to me.