Grief Anticipated, Part 5
This morning I rushed off to have my car serviced and forgot my phone. Drove an hour to get to North Dallas, mostly through torrential rain. The first fifteen minutes in the dealership waiting area, I fiddled with my laptop, trying to get connected to their wi-fi. I deleted some ads, then answered one business email and, as soon as I sent it, found a new message waiting. The hospice nurse, unable to reach me, had called Brent to tell him that my Dad had passed away. I sat stupefied, staring at the screen. In that minute, all my recent efforts to ensure Dad’s comfort, the worry and planning and errands and phone calling I had done, became hugely irrelevant. As pointless as an umbrella in a tsunami.
Even as Dad is beyond reach of my help, he is also beyond need of it. In Glory, he is more spry than ever (he has probably gone for a good long swim by this time). He remembers everything now. Last week he couldn’t remember he had cancer. Now that he does, it doesn’t matter any more. In fact, he remembers all the sadness and loss, but these he understands, from his new perspective.
He cannot come back to me, but I will get to see him again. In the meantime, while I know there are tears to come, I also have things to do here. May I make good use of the time I have left.
Thanks for reading,