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’Â rooky 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.
The Henry Chronicles 
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 okayŠ” Dad’s assisted living apartment always did that, too, and I know WHY they did.