Someone dying is not a unique experience. Everyone on this earth will lose someone eventually. It is just a fact. A lot of people would rather not even think of that day. The day their love one will take their last breath. Why? Because even that thought can be so painful.
Humans are quite funny when you think about it. We "think" we have it all figured out. How things will work or how they should look. But life usually has other plans. Some people lose their parents, friends, close relatives, spouses, or even sadly their children. Suddenly, life isn't what we pictured. A color is missing from our lives. We stare at our canvas and try to figure out how we are going to go on. How can we make art on that canvas without red? Or blue? Yellow?
Seven years ago I experienced a February that I would have never pictured. My sister-in-law left this earth on February 7th and two weeks later on February 21st, my father joined her. Both died from cancer.
The night my father passed away is very precious to me. People often look at me strangely when I say it was one of the most beautiful moments in my life. Right up there with the birth of my children. It's true.
My father had been admitted into a hospice hospital in Houston after we received news that his cancer was just too far gone. My brothers had tried to take care of them in their home, but the need for help was large and the hospital was the best solution. He was never alone and someone always stayed with him. After my sister-in-law passed away, even my brother came to Houston and joined the rotation. I often think back about my brother on those days. Sitting there watching my father slip away just days after his wife. How numbing the pain must have felt at times. I can't even imagine.
My dad's condition worsened everyday and we knew the day was near. I lived in Fort Worth and had planned to spend the weekend in Houston. I was already packing the bags for my little family to leave the following morning when one of my brother's called and said that I should probably leave soon. Soon, as in now. Dad had stopped talking. He was breathing, but it didn't look good. Our neighbors helped watch our kids as we shifted into full throttle to get packed. We left quickly and I drove the whole way. I got one call from my nephew (who is just a year younger than I am) to hurry. I remember telling him, "I am, but I am not going to speed." Something in my mind kept telling me not to. My dad would be so mad if he knew I had broken the law to get there. The whole way I listened to Linda Ronstadt's album Canciones de Mi Padre (My Father's Songs). It is a mariachi album that Linda had recorded with various classic mariachi songs that her father loved. My father also loved those songs. In fact, the CD was his. I had borrowed it from him years ago and never gave it back. I sang softly, drove, and prayed I would get there in time.
When I got there my nieces and nephews swept in to help take care of my kids in the family room next door to my dad's room. I remember walking in terrified of what was going to happen, but still walking straight over to him. I knew he was tired. I knew his moments in this life were slipping. I remember placing my face by his ear. I remember feeling his soft grey curls under my hand. His breaths were labored and erratic. I remembered hearing soft stifled sobs in the room. I don't whose they were, but the room was full. My mom, all of my brothers, and their families were there. I whispered into his ear, "Dad, I am here." I told him that my husband and kids were too. I then said the hardest thing I could say, but knew I had to. "I know you are tired. You go now and rest." My family and I then joined hands in a circle in prayer around him. Not even 5 minutes later his chest stopped struggling to catch the next breath and he was gone.
I miss my father very much, but I am so thankful I had those last moments. I look at my children and wonder about how he would have loved to be here with them. He was such a playful grandfather and I know he would have let them get away with anything. I know some people will say, "He's always with you" or "He's watching you from above". I know and believe that we will see each other again one day, but he is just not here now. That thought is still very raw, even seven years later.
So, I paint on with a couple of colors less. Some other colors have been added and the picture is still beautiful, but I really miss the color he added to my canvas.
