End of summer came and I returned from sabbatical. For a long time I haven't been able to bring myself to write here.
On August 25 my father died. He was ready. He lived well and fully and long - to 96. Our time together in the summer was rich, and such a gift. The sorrow of missing him is astonishing. Deep.
On some level I think we all knew it was coming, though he had rallied so many times, it was hard to know. In retrospect it seems that he was staying around to help all of us get ready, to finish things. And so we travelled the end of his life together.
I actually made four trips home to Missouri in the summer of 2008. Three of them were planned. I was home with my parents and my children - the extended family - for a month from mid-May to mid-June. Daddy was still showing energy and humor. He was walking without assistance to the mailbox every day. We had some great conversations, and recorded many of them.
When I returned in July he had declined considerably. He was using a walker on the rare occasions when he had the will to walk. His resilient spirit had lost its cheer. Watching and listening to my parents, I noted that the aggravation they each sometimes expressed was so integrated into their days that if either of them were gone, the other - the one left - would miss the nuisance terribly. I went to my room and wrote in my summer journal:
... leaves will fall at
summer's end
and sadness settle itself around you.
Days, growing shorter, will
seem longer.
Expected interruptions will not...
and life will take new shape
around the absence.
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4 comments:
Thank you for sharing this. It serves us well to look into the hearts of each other.
It is such a mystery grief is at the same time something universal and something so personal. My friends who lost their seven year old once shared that many support groups for people who lost children were made up primarily of parents who lost infants. They said it was hard because the experience was so different from theirs. Of course it was.
Yes. It is very personal. With empathy, once we have experienced our own grief, we know the nature of this thing, and can feel connected to another who is grieving.
In an effort to support, sometimes people say, "I know what you're going through. I lost my father...." But the truth is, they actually only know what they went through. There are many times when life is a solo thing. No matter how many friends and family you have, for these events you're going it alone. Death is one of those times. Living in the void of a loved-one's death is another, I think.
I think your words are powerful: It serves us well to look into the hearts of each other.
Thanks.
I am looking into this chasm now. My father is very ill and won't last very much longer. I will get some more time with him in a week, and then I don't know.
I don't look forward to a world without him.
I'm glad you're going to have that time with him. Quiet awe. Reverence. I'll be thinking about you.
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