If I do not write this today, I fear I won’t be able to write them for the chasm of grief in me.
A couple of days ago, Dad looked at me, said “Hi”, and squeezed my hand and it was the most magical, perfect moment. I don’t think there is an adjective for that emotion. I might be able to play it on the piano, or pick out a paint chip to match the color of it, but it wouldn’t be quite right. Because it couldn’t come close.
Yesterday, we figured out a way that I could lie next to him, so I could bury my face in his shoulder, and be able to kiss his cheek, and hold his hand comfortably. He knew we were there, and that was enough for us.
We spent the afternoon, and long into the evening in his hospital room. I sense with every achingly difficult breath he takes, that a bit of his spirit, his soul, or whatever it is that has made him “Dave” for 69 incredible years, is fading. There are long pausing in his breathing, which make me catch mine and in a weird way hope it is the final silence of his body. He did not wish to linger in his leaving of the world. His body is so hot, almost feverish, and trembles slightly. I can hear his heart thundering in his chest. I wish I could describe the sound of my fathers heartbeat, because it is a beautiful sound. It’s a bit like the tone a rubber band plays when stretched, slightly taught between thumb and forefinger, but also the sound you hear in seashells. I know it beats “I love you” in 2/4 time.
As I was writing this, Mum came in to tell me the lovely nurse called around 2 am, to tell us there had been a change in Dad’s breathing, in case we wanted to come. I spent the night with him, curled next to him, holding his hand, until the sun came up.
Deep peace of the flowing air to you.
Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.
Deep peace of the shining stars to you.
Deep peace of the gentle night to you.
Moon and stars pour their healing light on you.
~ a Gaelic blessing <3