My father past away three months ago. Not my favorite words. He left his body they say. His beautiful body.
My heart is hurting more than anticipated.
He was 88 and very ill with a blood disorder. For the past two years he was being kept alive with weekly blood transfusions at a local hospital. Barely alive the last 8 months. Between transfusions he was extremely weak. Holding onto things as he walked. Being held by loved ones when near. He rested on his couch while waiting for his life force to run through his veins.
A week before he past he fell and hurt his knee. He was in the hospital when I arrived. Very quickly decisions had to be made. He kept saying ..I want to go home with Ethel. I want to go home with Ethel. .his beloved little dog.
Rehab or a nursing home were out of the question for him. He knew what he wanted.
Without being able to stand or walk, home meant no more blood. No more life.
I’m not sure he fully understood that part. A thought that haunts me day and night.
A body cannot live without blood. I knew it wouldn’t be long.
I held him in my arms and heart for four days. Making his transition as beautiful as it could possibly be. Sweet music, soothing oils, cool breezes, and whispers of love. Ethel by his side.
My dad was my best friend. We spoke almost every day since our eyes first met. I told him everything, and he told me. Our hearts vibrated on the same thread. Something rare.
The other day, with a friend I hadn’t seen since his passing, I wept in her arms. I haven’t heard from him. I’m second guessing everything. Did I do the right thing.
Told her how I held his space in safety and grace as he crossed. And that I hoped it was just as beautiful for him. That he was happy and at rest.
And then he came.
My phone on a bench two feet away, lit up with white letters moving across the black screen.
All the words I had just spoken.
..and 16 yr. old Ethel? The hospice nurse adopted her.
She now eats dog food instead of ravioli (my dad the empath Italian)
and, she wears tutus!
.angels and miracles.