“I’ll talk about it,” I said. “I’ll blog about it, every day.”
That was my intention. My father, at 93, was preparing to die, and I knew from the past that being present at the dying of a person you love means something in this world. When my husband died, and my beloved aunt years before him, I learned much about what it means to be a human being.
Don’t get me wrong. The sadness and the painfulness of loss are profound. This is not about that. This is about a window that opens in the room where a person is dying. A window that brings a different air from the other side. You have to be there. How could I not share that with you?
I didn’t talk. I didn’t blog. it was, after all, too intimate, too personal for social media. Only now, almost two months after my father died–I imagine he left through that window–am I able, perhaps, to tell what happened, and what I know now.
So far, I can tell you this: I felt honored to be present at my father’s dying, even as I felt helpless to make his life easier through all the days and nights and weeks of his leaving.
He helped me learn, though, as he had through our life together. I learned that we are safe in the Universe, that death is leaving here and going there, where there are others who also love you. They help you prepare to go. Don’t be fooled by endless speculations that death is anything other than that.
There’s more to tell, so much, much more. Maybe I’ll talk it soon.