Four months ago today, my Daddy died. Or as ~K~, who is ever politically correct, prefers to say, "He became Body Impaired."
It was very peaceful as deaths go. Apparently he just went to sleep. And as much as we had discussed it, for he had health problems for years, I still was not ready for the finality of it. To let go is, oh, so very hard.
We had moved into the house I would eventually buy about 10 days prior to his death. And he loved every minute of being here. He took over the sunroom that I had planned to use as a home office.
From his chair in the corner, he could see the common areas of the house and the yard. We bought bird and squirrel feeders so he could watch their antics from the many windows. He used his canes instead of his walker and went outside often to oversee our work on the gardens and the house repairs we were undertaking to meet the finance company's requirements for purchase.
He talked about how much he loved this little house. He was very happy for the three days he lived here prior to breaking his hip and falling. He had emergency surgery to replace his hip and didn't really fully recover. I was so frightened of the surgery, wondering if his heart would finally give out but he survived the operation for which I was grateful.
Because he had not had much of an appetite for years, he never really ate or drank very much. This made it become difficult for his system to clear out the anesthesia and pain medication which caused him to hallucinate. He never really "came out of it" except for that day. February 16th. The day our hearts were broken.
He was quite lucid that morning and even congratulated me on the previous day's Act of Sale on the house. My mother tells me that after ~K~ and I left for an appointment, he just closed his eyes and went to sleep. He never woke up again.
I was so shocked to return to the hospital to find that he was indeed gone. I had just come from Wallyworld to stock up on some tomato soup for him - to encourage his appetite and some things for my mother, who had never left his bedside.
My Daddy was gone and I didn't get to give him one last kiss good-bye. And while I frequently told my Daddy how much I loved him, I never really thanked him for loving me. I am a very lucky person. I had a Daddy who loved and adored, not only me, but my child as well. My Daddy was so good to me. Good to Us. I am quite lucky indeed.
I, no, we, miss him so very very much. Not a day goes by that we do not think of something we'd like to tell him, show him or share with him. We peruse his favorite aisles of the bookstores remarking how much he'd like one book or the other. We see the cowboy movies on video that we know he'd enjoy.
We sit in his chair. We lie on his spot on the couch. My mother wears his t-shirts. I frequently sleep in his place in the bed. We have his canes and his favorite hat in a stand by the front door. ~K~ likes to smell his pipes that we keep in the ashtray and we also light the incense of which he was so fond. And on Sundays I tell my mother that if she'd like, I'll mess up the paper as only my Daddy could do.
And together we often cry and reminisce and talk about just how much we miss him.
My Daddy was always searching for enlightenment. Wanting to find the answers. Looking for Peace.
My Daddy has found it all at last.
Daddy, We love and miss you so.
C. W. JR. 10/10/27 - 02/16/06