River of Peace

Dad died yesterday. 

I have had months to think of some fancy way to say it, but that’s all I have.  He died.  He chose the day, and his lungs gave out.  He fought for 14 months with no pain, outside of the ache in his heart at leaving all of us.  I can’t imagine the strength he carried through every day, knowing that yesterday he would have to look us all straight in the eye and say “I’m ready”.

So please join with me in saying a prayer – to God, to the skies, to the universe.  In recent days, Dad had talked to us about how he felt that regardless of what the next adventure was, that he really felt that life here was heaven on earth.  He knew each day was a bonus.  And really, all things considered, the last year has been a gift none of us would have expected last May.  We had just enough time to learn to take his life for granted again, and for that I feel indescribably blessed.

I have shed my share of tears this week, and I just think of all our tears as carrying Dad on his journey.  All the tears that fall pour down, stream down the sides of the waiting place like rain drops that fall alone, but join with other drops as they are pouring down the sides of a mountain, forming veins and swails and valleys until they create a stream, and then a river.  At the head of that river is a carved boat, intricately detailed in sandalwood, with carvings in jade and engravings in gold, pictures of the days of his life, his love, his travels.  In the boat, Dad sits, straight and still.  Peaceful.  At rest.  And whether our tears are tears of love, or grief, of fear or hope, they all fall, join with others, and come together to swell under the boat.  It shifts off the sand.  It starts to slip.  And all our tears begin to lift him up, and carry him on, and set him free to find the next adventure.  He floats away.

As I watch him go I just keep wondering how we got here, and when he got in the boat because just a minute ago, there wasn’t even a boat there.  I am sure just a moment ago he was standing here with me.  At yet, there he is.  There he goes.  It makes me profoundly sad. 

But the boat is so beautiful and the river is so blue.  So I will cry a little more and help him on his way.

Go in Peace, Dad. Go in Peace.

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