Honoring the Dead: A letter to Dad

Hi Dad,
It's been eleven years since you died at age 89 on November 4, 2000.  You would be 100 years old by now and we'd probably still be driving each other crazy.  Ah, we drove each other crazy but how we loved each other.  Your death was not unexpected.  You had been in and out of the hospital that last year more times than I could count.  After  much deliberation you decided to go into assisted living but you didn't stay there long until you were in the hospital again.  You were to go to a nursing home to get you back on your feet but you knew you were dying of emphysema and you were tired of fighting.  We weren't ready to let you go but had to listen when you decided to go with comfort measures only.

I got the call to come home to Moses Lake to come see you.  I came over on a Greyhound Bus with enough clothes to last me a couple of days.  I ended staying much longer.  I called my manager at my new job at Barnes and Noble in Seattle and told her the situation.  She said, "Take as long as you need."  I began participating in the vigil at your bed.  My oldest brother and I took the day shift.  My youngest brother and sister took the night shift.  My middle brother couldn't come because he had already taken off a lot of time from work during the year and couldn't manage any more.  My aunt flew in to see you one last time.  She had been very young when her father died and as big sister's husband you helped fill the roll. We kept you company on your journey.  On that last night the nurse told us we'd better call everyone because you would probably die that night.  We gathered around your bed, sons, daughters, grandsons, so that we could help you with your journey.  The nurse told us to keep talking to you even if you didn't seem responsive; you would know that you were not alone.  You died.  A young friend of the family and of yours had us make a circle of prayer around you.  You were in a place where you didn't have to labor to breathe.  You were Home.

I miss you, Dad.  I miss talking about the weather on the phone with you.  You often wanted us to send some of our Seattle rain to the dry-lands.  We didn't see eye-to-eye on religion or politics.  It was much safer to talk about rain; on that we could agree.  Oh, I want you to know that we take better care of our car now.  Mr. D and I take it in for regular maintenance so maybe you wouldn't remind us that you told us that the Dodge that died needed looking at.  Yup, we shoulda listened, but you know how kids are.

Love you lots and lots,
C