Liberation

Yesterday, around 4:00 in the afternoon, while peacefully napping, my dad escaped his body.  It was the death that everyone says they wish for for themselves.  His last words, before he closed his eyes to nap were to my Mom:  "I love you."  Then he slept.  And, at some point, he was gone.

Even though his final act of leaving this earth was peaceful and easy, the labor that got him to that point took more than a year.  Throughout the last 15 months, there were many times that we thought Dad wouldn't make it and, overall, his last year of life was a long, slow decline.

Last night I asked the universe - or anyone and anything else who might be listening - the question, "Where is he?"  And absolutely nothing returned in answer.  Nothing.

How could I even be sure that the body in the wheelchair this past year was my dad?  The only evidence came from the fact that that old body looked somewhat similar to the body I have always called "Dad".  Anything dad-like in behavior has been gone for a long time.

So when did he take leave of this world?  I don't know.

It is very easy for me, for a lot of people, to think that we don't contribute enough to this world.  We think we need to stop wars, eliminate hunger, save the planet, etc., etc.  In his last months, my dad taught me that, just by being who we are, we contribute far more than we can ever know.

For a long time, Dad rarely knew who I was.  He contributed nothing to a conversation.  So often, we wondered why he was still here.  But in the last 15 months, his hanging around wore down so much resistance in us that, at his death, there was nothing left of the roughness that has characterized the relationship between me and my mom throughout my life.  The old stories had been melting for a while, and the love and acceptance that was being nurtured was apparent as we stood by my dad's bedside.  It is as though Dad was willing to barely inhabit his worn-out body for as long as it took for healing to occur in his family.  I don't think that he set out to be someone who changed the world, but the world changed because of his being.

After the call, when we went to the nursing home to see Dad one last time, he was lying on his bed, peaceful and at ease.  There was nothing tragic about it.  My dad was liberated.  Still tears flowed and we held each other.

Something big in me has surrendered to life.  There is less resistance to what is taking place.  No more resistance to my mom or nursing homes or keeping alive a tired body.  The miracles are all around, and I am in awe.

Last night, the full moon.  My dad was out there dancing with it.