Here’s what I didn’t do when I first awakened this morning: I didn’t wonder to myself if Dad was awake yet or whether this might be the morning that I found he had slipped away.
And last night, I didn’t begin my bedtime meditation asking for God to release Dad and take him home.
And at dinner time, as Todd and I dined outside for the first time with the arrival of balmy BBQ weather, I didn’t watch Dad’s eyes as he admired the growth of the redwood tree next door, or listen as he launched into, “Light thickens, and the crow makes wing to th’┬árooky wood.”
Losing someone you love is a big change, even when it’s expected, but what I notice most are the small things – the everyday moments that have taken new shape.
2 responses to “Everyday Moments”
And as one who didn’t get to see him every day, I don’t react to phone calls from my siblings as potentially dire news. I know Dad is at peace with those who preceded him, and that brings a sense of joyful completion of his flow.
I always felt like I had to start every call with, “Dad’s okayŐ” Dad’s assisted living apartment always did that, too, and I know WHY they did.