Embracing Life Joyfully Despite It’s Setbacks
Posted: Saturday, November 06, 2010
by Judi Lake
Judi Lake Advertising
Kind of quiet on the home front tonight...
Gary, my husband, is soundly sleeping in our bedroom while Laura,
our child,
is intensely concentrating on her latest Sims creation.
Restless, I revisit Searchwarp after a long absence and scan through the many articles I’ve written throughout the years under the guise of my many moods.
Noticing the variety, it is interesting that each article deeply reflects the woman I am.
I stop short when I see the title, “If They Only Knew". Although written over three years ago, it remains fresh in my memory. It was during that time I was juggling being a fulltime caregiver for my elderly dad while raising a family and meeting the demands of my own business.
I am not a writer nor have I ever professed to be. Whatever pieces I’ve contributed to this community, whether comedic, sad or serious, were penned through life experiences and my heart. Some of the articles have had endings
and, some not
but,
“If They Only Knew" wrote it’s final chapter this past August when my father died at our home in the arms of my eleven year-old daughter…
***
Gently, Anita, my dad’s hospice nurse, grabs my hand and says, “Judi, you’ve got to free your dad and give him permission to die."
In deep denial, I push Anita aside and run to my father’s bedside. “She doesn’t know," I stubbornly think to myself. “I’ve nursed him back to life before and I’ll do it again. I’m not ready to let him go yet…"
Exhausted, I sit beside my father and stroke his sleeping, sweaty head. “Dad, dad, I love you so much… Please, dad, let me know you can hear me somehow, plee-e-ease? I don’t know what more I can do… da…"
My tears finally let loose and I begin to cry with sobs thrusting from the depths of my soul. I soon fall asleep with my head on his chest and dream of my life from the time I was a little girl to present. I see my young father eagerly walking toward me open armed with his wide smile and deep dimples. Daddy… my daddy… I love you so much…
I awake abruptly only to see I’ve dozed for a mere ten minutes. Ten minutes? I’ve dreamt my entire life in only ten minutes?
Suddenly the stillness in my father’s room becomes so loud and I finally understand. I call out to God to help me let go of my dad. I whisper to my father that it’s okay to go home… I will be fine. I let him know that I know he’s dying and that the Lord is ready for him… God, God help me… God, I can’t let go of my dad alone… Go-od….
Suddenly, in panic, I think of my daughter. I swiftly run from my father’s room to search for my daughter and find my husband speaking with Anita and the EMT team.
“Gary, where’s Laura? Dad’s dying and we need to keep Laura out of his room!"
“I thought she was next door."
“No! She’s here - where is she?"
Anita kindly checks upstairs while I search the rest of the house. Within minutes I find myself back in my father’s room and see my father’s limp body tightly cradled in my daughter’s arms. With tears streaming down her face, my daughter turns towards me and says “God has taken Pop-Pop back to heaven…"
The coroner arrives a few hours later to transport my father to the funeral home. Gently, they ask me if he was a veteran. Numbly, I nod yes and confirm that he was in the Navy. Once on the gurney, they respectfully cover his body with the American flag for his last trip down our driveway. I softly shift the flag off his face and grab his cold, limp hand while we make our final journey together. I somberly watch them carefully lift my father’s lifeless body into the hearse and stand erect saluting the man who I’ve proudly loved my entire life.
***
Witnessing my father’s death has been the holiest event I have experienced in my life and I am deeply humbled and grateful that I was able to care for him during the last fourteen years of his life.
Through my father’s death, I have learned to embrace life joyfully despite its setbacks. Although ‘cliché-ish’, I’ve also learned to savor each moment since the future is not ours to own.
I conclude as I did over three years ago:
"…My dad is still my hero. While others may see him as an old, silly man, I know who my dad was…. He is my father whose now withering body was once strong and vibrant and full of dreams…. I am reminded of a poem by Joanna Fuchs:
Everything Dad
A little girl needs her daddy
To love her with manly charm,
To soothe her when she’s hurt,
And keep her safe from harm.
A girl needs her dad
To show her a man who’s good,
To help her make right choices,
As only a father could.
A woman needs her father
Just to be aware,
He’ll always be there for her
To sustain her and to care.
You’ve been all these things, Dad.
I hope that you can see
How much I treasure you;
You mean everything to me...."
***
Dad, you’ve been all of the above and more. This one’s for you and may God bless you!
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Top-level comments on this article: (5 total)Hi Judi, it's good to see you around here again.
I'm so sorry to hear about your father. It must be very difficult for you and your daughter. Your words are a great tribute to him.Thanks Bruce - how could I ever forget Searchwarp? This community had lifted someone [me] up who had never really written before! Amazingly, we are fine and Gary was wonderful in preparing Laura for my father's death - it was me who was in denial! The last 2 years were the hardest with me caring for him round the clock but you do know that I'd do it all over again! I hope you and Jean are doing well and I love the changes you've brought to sw!
Well Judy, do you remember me? I'm sorry about your father. How old was he? my father was 78 when he died.
Good poem, thanks for sharing.Gee-eeez, David, "Do I remember you???" How could I not? I've always adored your work and you were one of the first people to comment on my articles when I first joined sw years ago! Thank you - my dad was 86 - it is very humbling how roles reverse... Hope you are well!Gee-eeez, David, "Do I remember you???" How could I not? I've always adored your work and you were one of the first people to comment on my articles when I first joined sw years ago! Thank you - my dad was 86 - it is very humbling how roles reverse... Hope you are well!ooops... methinks I messed up and put my response back to you in the wrong place... lol
Thanks for sharing this Judi. Your writing always makes an impact... challenging, entertaining or like this piece, touching. SteveFunny, Steve, I've always felt the same about your writing... you humble me - Thanks and hoping all is well with you!!
This is a moving tribute to your father, it reminds me of my own father and how I didn't want to let him go.I probably wrote this so easily Jennifer because I am still mourning and missing him so very much - Death is always difficult and I am sure your own experience, as you suggest, was a struggle. Although it was apparent to everyone else that my dad was dying, it wasn't to me [probably because I was so close in caring and nursing him] - the letting go, although the kindest thing we can do, is also the hardest and I've had to do that with both my parents.I think the best tribute we can give our parents is live our lives to the fullest as good, decent human beings - my dad was really a great man as I am sure yours was as well! Thank you for your comments and I hope things have gotten better for you!
Wow. I'm just glad I have a box of Kleenex's on my desk. I had tears streaming down my face as I read your account. You are an amazing writer! My eyes were blurred and fogged over and I sat here sniffling. I am a total daddy's girl, so the idea of losing my own dad probably sneaked into the thought pool there a little, but truly, this was just a gorgeous description of (and I love how you say) a Holy Event. Beautiful. Many blessings to you!Hi, Liesl - Due to it's personal nature I had misgivings of posting this but then thought again and your response confirmed I had made the right decision - Thank you so much for your kind comments!
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