As I posted a Facebook post this morning to recognize my dad’s 107th birthday, I had a strange understanding work through me from head to toe like a menopausal hot flash. I realized that I was grateful that he did not live one more second past the hour he chose to take his last breath. With his last exhale, he was at peace, with his last breath, he had completed the life cycle he had shown up for.
He showed up in so many different ways that I would not understand in the moments of my life.
My dad was just my dad until he became the Grandpa of my two daughters. I witnessed the reverence, the love, the quiet adoration as he held and comforted them. I realize now that the man born in the 19teens of the 20th century survived many hardships and fears and tears in his life. He was an artist, a serious dad and family provider. He did not appreciate crowds or often gatherings with extended family…He had a streak of depression that shadowed him throughout his life. I wonder now if it was really depression or fear of the unknown that haunted him. He didn’t respect the medical community and always believed mind over matter would heal his body…and he held onto that until he was 84 and passed while laying in a hospital bed after a heart attack no doubt very afraid of the next medical procedure someone was going to perform with his family’s permission to keep him alive another day or week.
He was ready to go. This was never a question in his mind. I knew it. I loved him, I respected him, I cherished him enough to be willing to allow him to make the choice. And he did.
So many things I would like to ask you Dad, so many conversations I would like to have with you, but the one thing I know for sure is that in the end you made the decision and I’m at peace with that decision.
So Happy 107th, Dad…wherever you are.
