You took your last breath in this life about two hours ago in New Jersey.
This morning in Sydney, I received the call I’d been fearing, expecting, and in some ways, hoping for, ever since I sat at your bedside eleven days ago. On that day, at the end of my second recent visit to be with you, we held each other’s hands and said what I knew in my heart were our final good-byes.
I pray you are at peace now. No human being should have to suffer as you did in the past two months. I believe you are in a better place now, and my faith is such that I believe, in a mystery only God can understand, that you are now again, in some way I cannot begin to fathom, with our beloved Rob.
Dad, there’s so much I want to say to you, so much I want to write in this post, but it will have to wait until another day. Clive and I are going out to buy red roses, the symbol of love, and we’ll take them to Balmoral Beach here in Sydney, where you loved visiting our family when we lived there. I know you remember you played whiffleball with your grandson on that beach.
Dad, your life had happy times and also tragic ones. Some of your choices and behaviour hurt other people, including me. Our relationship has been complicated in some ways, simple in others. Over the course of the years, I have come to believe you gave me and Rob the best of your love, that somehow — in the midst of all the other actions of your event-filled life — you managed to give us the ‘higher good’ of yourself. You left our mother and us when we were young, but we saw you regularly and you were part of our lives. You adored your grandson, my only child and your only grandchild, and he loved you, too. I always knew you loved me, and you knew I loved you. We said that to each other eleven days ago when we said good-bye in person. We didn’t really need to say it out loud, though, did we — we both really did know it, always.
Rest in peace, Dad. I love you.
Filed under: My Journey |