My dad was and is a special man to me; and the more I discovered about his life, the more I respected and loved the man who raised us. The tiniest glimpse for you is that he was a teenager in occupied Holland WW2, enough said.
Anyway, dad was diagnosed with cancer of the pancreas and liver in November 2003 and two dear friends with medical training bluntly said to me – Linda, GO HOME. So I did.
Us kids cared for dad in the family home and as I was working a commission sales job at the time, I stayed for a couple of longer time spans, so the siblings were able to do work and family stuff.
I began grieving for dad from the day I was advised of his cancer which made our time together super special, alongside the knowledge that he really was dying.
In a strange way he was settled about it.
Six months previously my dad and mum discussed her living in a nursing home in the nearby town, as her TIA’s were getting worse and they knew they were unable to manage if she really fell down. I love that their relationship allowed for this heavy kind of discussion and that they continued their friendship through the changed living conditions.
Caring lovingly for someone who knows they are dying is an amazing learning curve and the people from this small town we were in often brought me to tears with their offerings, their coffee date visits with dad and their general care of a man they truly liked.
Fast forward to February and after a visit from mum – we’d collected her from the home a few kilometres away – dad was in a slump.
The whole family had been together for the weekend, a huge gathering in this small family home, and I can still see mum propped up on the bed head with pillows while they enjoyed time together.
The next day I was nudged to ask dad if he’d like to spend a week with mum and he was so happy about that. We arranged his own lovely room in the same nursing home and mum visited often. They were happy.
That was dad’s last week.
(Small interval for some more of my tears, even after this long time)
I was still holding the fort at home with their dog, Foxy, and coming in daily.
Dad was well cared for by his doctor and the nurses, and I felt blessed that this was playing out in a country town that didn’t feel too strongly about some rules. Foxy visited with me, and time moved slowly.
One day, as I was leaving, the nurse confirmed that dad was close and I just said call me, you’ll know when, he’s not to die alone.
The call came at 4.30am the next morning and I raced off into town to be with dad. As I sat, a little back from his bed, I was alerted to the spiritual family who had come to welcome Dad. Oh man, it was amazing, the feeling of supreme love. There was no way he would have been dying alone.
I recognised a child they had ‘lost’ and my mum’s mum, with the other beings sending a family vibe. There were many and I still get choked up at the huge familial feelings generated with this group who came to take dad home.
This experience served to truly bed in the knowledge that when our journey is done, it is done. I’m still kind of sad that dad chose such a painful exit as I’m sure we can choose to complete our journey with grace, ease and flow. This is my intention anyway.
Hope this has served you in the telling and I send love and big hugs out over the airwaves to You.
Linda Simpson – Heartisan & Consciousness Connector.
Your expert on how to live a life with Love and Joy as Abundant Ingredients.