Cathartic

I was awakened by my cell phone ringing. Before I was fully conscious I was down the stairs and fishing it out from the bottom of my purse.
Bryan calling it read.
“Bless his heart” I thought. “He doesn’t realize it’s 2 am here in Swaziland.”
But he did realize.
“We’ve had to take dad to the hospice center…. unresponsive….”
I was surprised at my calm. “Are you telling me it’s time to come home?”
“Sweetie, the nurses say he won’t make it 24 hours. There’s no time for you to come home…you need to say your good-byes now on the cell phone.”
I told him I’d just woken up. I needed a second to shake the sleep out of my head, - had to go pee. I told him I would call him back.
I calmly closed the phone.
How do you say goodbye? I wondered. Numb and dazed I wandered to the bathroom. The numb began to fade and I began to cry. I wasn’t ready to let go. I was planning on going home to see him one last time.
I scolded myself for crying now when I needed to put myself together. I needed to be strong for him one last time. I didn’t want him to worry about me. I wanted to assure him I’d be okay.
I dried my tears, steeled my spine and dialed 13 digits into my brother’s pocket.
He put the phone to my dad’s ear. “It’s Christy” he said, and my dad lifted his head to listen.
“He can’t talk” Bryan had warned me, “But he’s aware.”
How do you say goodbye?
I couldn’t do it.
So I prayed instead.
I thanked Jesus for giving him to me as my dad, and released him back into His care.
And I assured dad that I would be alright.
I ended the conversation with my brother’s promise to call me every few hours.
By 6am he was gone.
Susan came quickly to comfort me. She was the only one I could bear to face. Her quiet strength and peaceful heart were my support.
She just listened.
And I’ll never forget the deep sadness I felt as I pulled back the heavy drapes in my dining room, revealing a beautiful sunrise and beautiful exotic flowers blooming in the Africa beyond them.
Oh how he loved flowers.
I began to weep again.
It’s going to be such a beautiful day here on Earth… and he won’t be here to see it.
But almost as an afterthought came the realization, He does see it, but just from another angle. He can still enjoy the beauty of creation.
I had to smile at the thought of him walking mile after mile of gloriously created gardens, with blooms that never wither. Now he can walk as far as he’d like, and not lose his breath or have to rest.
I’ve have missed him often these past 2 years,-when the daffodils bloomed, when the garden grew like crap, when the horses ran around the race track, when I found his childhood stocking at the bottom of the box of decorations, when Jack Nicholson vomited in The Bucket List, when I play Farmville….
I miss him still.