This week marked the end of an era.
Not one that would make headlines or get featured in the nightly news but an important one for me.
My father passed away.
As far as deaths go, it was a good one.
For over two years Dad has suffered from dementia and for some time has been largely unresponsive (although he did perk up on his 90th birthday, which Danita and I flew over for, in March).
On Sunday I had a call from my sister telling me my father had deteriorated, had stopped breathing (on a spasmodic basis) and had stopped eating.
For him, not eating was a clear sign that things weren’t looking good.
There was a period of indecision about going to Perth (which is where my parents were living) but thankfully, I have a very supportive and understanding partner in Danita and she encouraged me to go (with her and Sancho, of course).
When I told Andy, my business partner, his response was interesting.
His first comment was “I hope it goes well”, immediately followed by “That was a stupid thing to say”.
In fact, it was the best and most perfect thing to say – we all must come to this point in life and the best we can hope for is a death “that goes well” – thanks Andy.
Tuesday we flew to Perth (managing to get the last spot for an animal on the flight).
It was Mum and Dad’s 65th wedding anniversary on Thursday and we were all convinced he was hanging out for that date.
On Friday Dad’s condition deteriorated dramatically and we all rushed into the hospital.
We all sat with him until the nurses came for his morning bath.
After that, I was fortunate to have a few minutes alone with him where I was able to tell him how I felt.
Soon after, Michelle and Mum came back into the room and Dad changed.
At 11.45am he breathed his last and is at rest.
At the time of his passing we had a Klezmer music album playing – Yitzchak Perlman – In The Fiddler’s House.
Soon after he’d gone I had a vision/feeling/sense of Dad dancing to the music – it was a beautiful sensation for me.
When it comes to dying, which we must all do, this was a good one.
Dad had had a good long life. He was physically healthy and so wasn’t in pain or physical discomfort.
He had a devoted partner in my mother and had lovely relationships with all his grandchildren.
At the end he had his closest family present with him.
There’s a piece sent to me by my close friend, Candy, when I told her about Dad passing. It’s a beautiful piece and I’ve reproduced it here.
I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says: “There, she is gone!”
“Gone where?”
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me not in her.
And just at the moment when someone at my side says: “There, she is gone!” there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: “Here she comes!”
And that is dying.
Anonymous