My dad passed away nine days ago. We were packing and starting to move when it happened. My mind was focused solely on stuffing boxes and how quickly we could move.
On Thursday my sister called to say he had a heart attack and this time was bad. Our dad has had heart attacks before and frankly I wasn’t really concerned at first, he always bounced back. But she added he was on life support. If we could we should come see him.
Bear and I were trying to figure how we could schedule a trip out of town. Then my sister called Friday night, he was gone. They took him off the machines and he slipped away soon after.
I admit I’m still a little numb over a week later. I accept he’s gone. I went to the viewing, the wake, the funeral and the burial. I understand but I don’t feel anything except a small relief. I know he’s not been feeling well, he had trouble standing and walking. I know, I believe he is better off and much happier. I believe in Heaven, a good God, grace and that he is probably hanging out with his brothers and old friends he’s missed. He once mentioned most of the people he knew, including my mother, were dead. So it gives me a little relief thinking he’s not hurting any more. Another thing is once this news is delivered you no longer live in dread of it, its already happening. So we got that going for us.
It’s odd but I thought about this day 2 years ago, nearly to the day. It is and not what I expected.