Saturday, March 29, 2014

Seasons of Love

Dear Dad,

I went to see you today but I am not sure if you knew I was there.  I have been to see you a few times this week and each time, I am less certain of how much of you is really there.  It's been 2 weeks since we were told that you might not make it past the weekend and in that time, we have all had time to say goodbye.

Your sons have been at your side virtually every day.  Mom has been there with me and by herself.  She wanted to make sure you knew that she is not angry with you anymore and that it is ok to go.  She forgives you for the past.  That's not an easy thing to do and if you heard her at all, I am sure you were pleased to know it!  

I have brought Miranda to see you and even though I am not sure that you could see her, I bet you felt her presence.  She has a way of just lighting up a room simply by being in it.  She has changed my life for the better and I am sad that you will never really get to know her.

As for me, I have held you hand and kissed your head and assured you that you are loved.  I have reminded you of vacations we took together and I pulled up Broadway show tunes on Pandora.  Today was Rent and Les Miserables and a little Wicked. I do not know if you could hear it but it made me feel good to play them for you.

Today, you met your newest niece.  She smiled and cooed and she completes the circle of grandchildren for you to meet here.  Now it's time to go meet Allie.  She is waiting for you.  I told her to be on the look-out.

Sh'ma Yis'ra'eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad.
Hear, Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.

I learned today that a rabbi had visited you this week.  He left this prayer by your bed with a note that it should be one of the last things you hear before you die.  I read it in Hebrew and English before I left.  Dad, it's time.

Your body is a shell of what it used to be.  The robust man that I remember is gone.  It's painful to see you there, immobile in that bed, waiting for the end to come. Eyes open by not seeing.  Food sitting untouched and your water glass still full.  This is not what you would have wanted.

I had a dream about you the night before last.  In it, we were at the beach and you were tan and laughing and buying popsicles for everyone around us.  I am glad that is how my subconscious mind remembers you.

I know that death has no timeline - it happens when it happens and there is no way to predict it - but I can say with certainty that there is nothing left for you here.  Let go of that body that is only causing you pain.  We all have different ideas on heaven and the afterlife, but I feel it in my bones that you will be reunited with my daughter and your sister and anyone else you want to see.   

You have lived a life that many only dream about.  It's time to go.  Let us mourn your body and your physical absence and let us celebrate your spirit and the part of you that will live on in your children and grandchildren.   

I love you, dad.  I always have.  I always will.

"In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, a year in the life?" - RENT

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