Godspeed

Today is Memorial Day. My dad was a WWII veteran and very patriotic so I hung his flag up for him. It is old and faded and rests, folded, on top of the urn that houses his remains. Today it flew in memory of the man he was: conventional, loyal, generous, and principled. Here’s to you dad. Happy Memorial Day.

Before my father passed away, I tried to explain to my friend, Kimberly, what it was like losing my father to dementia. Pretend you are standing at the end of a very long lit hallway. Slowly, starting at the opposite end, the lights start to go off. Sections of the hall become enclosed in darkness and the light is shrinking as the darkness gets closer to where you’re standing. That’s an image of watching a mind vanishing one small piece at a time.

On my cell phone I have ten or eleven saved voice mails my father left for me when he was well. They are the voice of a different man than the one who passed away in January. That man would call me up out of the blue just to tell me he loved me. That man knew I was his daughter and that I was in school studying to become a nurse. That man knew the beautiful woman in his home was his wife and that she was the all time love of his life. That man was proud of his children and grandchildren and loved them with all his heart and knew them by their names and their faces. That man had no idea he would begin fading away long before he left us. If he knew, it would have broken his heart.

I’ve only listened to those voice mails once since my dad passed away. It’s still too soon. I’m still letting go. I’m still saying goodbye in my own personal way. Tears sometimes come to my eyes when I hear a striking piece of music or read something exceptionally beautiful. I will feel a profound sadness and know I am feeling the loss of my dad. This letting go takes time. Saying goodbye to someone we love might be very sacred and it might be what must be done but it is also very hard.