Fall of 1995. In September, sitting at my sister's place sharing a coffee with my parents, discussion turned to the subject of where my parents would spend Christmas. I listened to the conversation expecting to hear this one's name or even that one's name, never expecting to hear my name. I continued to listen then my thoughts came to a screeching halt! What's that I heard? My parents were coming to my place for Christmas? What? My brain shifted gears and the planning started. I would do this, that and everything!
I had been asking my parents to spend Christmas with our family for a very long time and had stopped asking in the last few years not wanting to feel the disappointment when they would inform us that they would be spending it with another sibling's family.
The house cleaning, baking and revamping of the guest room began immediately. Every night after work, I would review my "to do" list and check something off, this after the kids homework was reviewed, bath was supervised and they were nicely tucked into their beds after a bedtime story.
At first, I would crawl into bed and serenade Bill to sleep with my endless chatter about what needed to be done next. This soon turned into a full blown oratorio of tears, memories and the importance of my father in our lives! Every night, I would crawl into bed and cry. At first Bill would gently chastise me for doing too much but at the end, he simply opened his arms and let me weep in my safe place. I had come to realize that this would be "our" last Christmas with Dad. At first Bill would say, "There will be other Christmases." I would always respond, "No, this is our last Christmas with Dad."
One evening, while scrubbing the floor for the umpteenth time, I pondered on how very unique and how very loving our father was. For such a small man physically, he occupied the space of many men in life. His love was endless, his understanding profound and his humanity tireless. He had 8 eight children and treated us all as individuals. His heart was so big. He had this unique way of making each one of us feel like we were the apple of his eye. By this time in his life, he had many, many grandchildren and they too held a special place in his heart - each one for their uniqueness. I also marvelled at his respectful ways when dealing with people. We have a saying in our family - Dad showed the same respect to all. You could be the Pope or a beggar on the street, you could expect the same compassion, sincere interest and respect. Everyone was God's child in his heart.
On that same evening, I decided to clean the fridge - yet again. Bill came down and tried to coax me to get to bed. I was not done. I was not done summarizing the ways my father had influenced my life, influenced how I dealt with people and influenced how I loved my husband - unconditional. We were fortunate to have Dad and to witness a very deep love between he and my mother. He was a very affectionate man with all of us but he always had a special twinkle in his eye when Mom was around - which was always. His beautiful blue eyes would light up, the moment she walked into a room. It always seemed as if he was seeing her for the first time; we had just celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary! He could not go by her without a simple gentle touch and sometimes, no often, without a hug and a kiss. I knew, from a very early age, that I wanted this for me when I married. Although at first, the open affection took Bill by surprise and was uncomfortable with it, he soon began to seek this out from me. He grew to need my affection as much as I needed it from him. I remember crawling into Bill's open arms that night and weeping like I had never wept before. I also remember, that was the last night I wept. I was ready to live the best Christmas ever!
Christmas came, my parents joined us and we spent a truly magical Christmas. At the end of their stay, my parents informed us that Dad would be undergoing some medical testing and I knew that I knew, that indeed this would be "our" last Christmas with Dad.
Once the medical testing was done, Dad was scheduled for surgery to remove the blockages in his arteries. I was there the day of the surgery, saw him in the ICU after the surgery. Part of me was relieved, knowing that he had pulled through the surgery and became even more relaxed when I knew he was going home to my sister's place to recuperate. That Sunday night, the phone rang and it was my brother who was calling to tell me that Dad was back into the hospital and that I should get there soon. I got there just in time, just before he slipped into a coma. I approached his bedside and said, "I'm here." He grabbed my hand and brought it to his chest and held it there.
During the next few days, I left his side for only short periods. He held on until all of his family was finally around him. He gave us enough time to cry as a family. He gave us enough time to turn our tears to laughter about the stories we shared and when no one was looking, the angels came to take him home. Everyone had left to grab a bite to eat and I stood alone in the room. I said, "Dad, you know me better than I know myself. If you want me to be here, I will stay. But if you feel that I cannot be here, then let something happen that will call me away." Just at this moment, my sister popped her head in the doorway and told me that I needed a break, to come join her outside. In this very cold yet sunny moment, we promised Dad out loud that we would take care of Mom. Just then, we both knew and it was confirmed by our nieces who had come to get us. Dad was gone.
In the hours and days that followed to his funeral, my sister and I made a pact to be strong and let the others lean on us when they needed to. In the months that followed, there were few tears until the actual internment which happened in May. On the drive home with my brother, my heart finally broke. I had denied my grief for so long, chose to ignore it, and I had quite the price to pay for not giving grief a place in my heart. When Bill died, I knew I could not and would not do this again. I let my grief in, and I continue to rely on it to navigate me through my dark hours. I will one day know how to separate my grief from what Bill means to me and will begin to heal.
I will honour your memory Papa by continuing to offer unconditional love through understanding the uniqueness of those who are in my life and to all those I am yet to meet.
P.S. This is a poem I found shortly after my father died.
He Only Takes the Best
~ Therese Pearman
God saw you getting tired,
and a cure was not to be.
So He put his arms around you,
And whispered "Come to me."
With tearful eyes we watched you
And saw you pass away.
Although we loved you dearly,
We could not make you stay.
A golden heart stopped beating,
Hard working hands to rest.
God broke our hearts
to prove to us,
He only takes the best.
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