I'm slowly getting the loose ends tied up from my Dad's passing. Last Monday I drove out to Greenwood Assisted Living where he was staying at the time of his death to give them a thank you gift. My Dad loved chocolate so a box of See's to share among his caregivers seemed like a fitting token of appreciation. As I drove up into the drive way a sense of sacredness and reverence engulfed me. Here was the last spot on earth where my Dad lived in his body and from whence he took his departure. Finding Greenwood was an answer to our prayers. It is a small facility that houses up to 16 residents. My Dad's room was just off the large common area which includes a lounge, dining area etc. Every time I have entered that building I've felt a comforting, warm, spirit and ambiance. I'm sure there are angels in attendance there. Perhaps because most of these residents at Greenwood are closer to being on their way out. As I walked in I passed by the door to my Dad's former room. It was closed. I thought about peeking in for a second but I didn't know if someone had moved in already.
I gave the gift and thank you card to a staff member. She gave me a bag containing a couple of things we had left and a sympathy card from the staff.
"To Lloyd's Family" was written on the outside envelope. I was struck by the tenderness I sensed in those words. I've not realized before how comforting and touching small sentiments of sympathy can be at the death of a loved one. The card read
"Thank you for letting us take care of your Dad. He was a very sweet and loving man. I enjoyed playing Bingo with him. He loved it when he won. Our thoughts and prayers are with all of you at this hard time. Love, Everyone at Greenwood."
His passing hasn't been necessarily hard however. It is an odd combination of moments of sudden sorrow and missing him along with feelings of great relief that the hard time of the past year is over. I would describe it more as intense and refining than hard.
As I drove away it was a deja vu. Late afternoon on the 10th of April I had pulled out of that driveway with most of my Dad's mortal possession in the back of my van. His life had been reduced to several pictures, some articles of clothing, a couple of blankets and pillows and a few small personal items. I was sobbing uncontrollably then. I did so again.
I wouldn't ask for his return. His life was complete. I'm just grateful for the love and the million lifetime human moments that contribute to the sorrow of losing my father. I know he exists somewhere and that that somewhere is not all that far away. When I think of him I actually sense his younger more vigorous self as opposed to an aged, frail and broken body. I know I will see him again in a few years when it's my turn to "go over."
