I have to keep reminding myself over and over. My dad is dead. I have to keep telling myself because it doesn’t seem real. It can’t be. Just over 3 weeks ago my dad, though not completely healthy, was going to live. And now he is no longer here. How can I at the age of 30 not have a dad anymore? How can my mom be a widow? 
At 11:21 last night, this man whom I love so dearly took his final breath. There is a part of me that feels like I took a final breath as well. I had a pain in my body that I had never felt before. Everything hurt. I felt nauseous. I sobbed. My mom, sister and I had talked earlier about our plans for the moments following his death. That moment was upon us. We gently bathed his warm but limp body. We dressed him in his clothes. We anointed him with oils. We spoke loving words- words of peace, prayers and grace. “You are free now, dad.”, “There is no more pain.” , “We shall see each other again.” We had wanted to wrap him in beautiful cloths but hadn’t had the time to acquire any prior to this sacred moment. We thought about it and realized that my mom had a couple of blankets in their car that ended up being perfect. It was almost poetic as the blanket that wrapped him was covered in butterflies and colored in earth tones making his body appear to be wrapped up like a cocoon. I liked that idea. He truly was going through a transformation where in the end, he will be morphing into something beyond words and beauty- soaring into his next adventure. Covering his head was more difficult. This would be the last time any of us would lay eyes upon his face. Each of us took our turn to say farewell, kiss his head and wish him onward.
It’s a strange feeling to know that death is imminent but still be in complete shock when that moment comes. It consumes you. It’s like watching someone else’s life unfold before your very eyes. I looked at his cocoon and wondered who was in there? It was a man that resembled my dad but also looked nothing like him. The man I knew was full of life- bright, exuberant, compassionate, energetic and humorous. The man wrapped on the bed was a shell. That couldn’t possibly be my dad.
The coroners came to take his body. They were calm, gentle and respectful. Witnessing his body being placed on a gurney and rolled out of our view was devastating. I placed my hand on him as they passed by. I hugged my mom and sister. It was finally over. A culmination of 3 1/2 weeks of hospital/hospice visits (though truly I felt as though I lived there 24 hours a day), massaging, nursing, crying, loving, meal runs, loads of laundry to help keep his body in dry clothes, phone calls, time off from work, hours of sitting and watching- all over.
My nerves are wrecked. I have experienced a level of exhaustion I have never known before. I know that the sounds of coffee being brewed will haunt me for a time as they will remind me of the gurgling sounds that echoed from my dad’s breath as he lay dying. The smell of lavender that I used to rub into his swollen feet will fill my mind with images that I wish to forget. I also know that this too shall pass. My heart grieves and yet is somehow filled with hope. I will remember him and strive to live my life by the examples he showed me. My dad will forever be a part of me- just in a different way now.
I too am wrapped in a cocoon- and my transformation is also just beginning.
MoonStruck 