Journal/Blog

10-23-2024 Reflection

It's been over a year since I logged on to writing.com.

My dad passed in September 2023 and the next day I withdrew from a lot of things to concentrate on my family and process the grief. My mom put their affairs in order and celebrated one last Christmas with us. She passed the next day.

They were married for 55 years. I can count on one hand the number of nights they spent apart in all that time. They were perfectly imperfect. They shared joy and laughter, tears and fights. The last few years the dad we knew and husband she knew slipped away, taken by Alzheimer's.

We lost him. He lost himself. She stayed with him until his last breath.

After he passed, mom talked of things she might do in the future. And always there was a hollow ring to her voice.

Improvements were made to their house in anticipation of her return. She only stayed one night there without him.

Her health declined and she spent the rest of her time in facilities or the hospital.

She received a pacemaker because her heartbeat was so low she could have passed without the medication they gave her. After it was in, she told me that she signed a paper saying after her death her pacemaker could be used for veterinary purposes. It would be donated and save a beloved pet who needed one.

The morning she passed she was supposed to have a procedure that would look for what was still wrong with her heart.

When I got the call, I already knew. It was broken in a way that medicine could not fix.

The love of her life was waiting for her.
After spending years saying goodbye to him, she was ready to be by his side again.

They loved to dance. As a kid and later as an adult, I would admire how naturally they fit together. Dad always held her right hand in his left one, against his cheek, as he leaned close and held her tight.

Just as she was by his bedside at that moment, I know dad was there at hers. Holding out his hand, asking her to dance.

And that is how I remember them.

The sharp pain has dulled to an aching throb.
One that still makes my breath catch when I think of calling to tell them something and realize I can't.
And the dull ache that means I am getting accustomed to their absence still makes me angry at times.

I know that they would want all of us to continue on and enjoy each and every moment we can. That they are watching over us and waiting for us and hopefully it is a long time before that joyful moment when we meet again.

So, we continue.

We tell stories and laugh and cry.

I see the turning of the seasons and think of dad mentioning the first frost of winter or how the ground was getting thawed enough to get back in the fields. I see school buses and think of the years that he drove one. Remember him teaching me to drive and walking me down the aisle. I hear his laughter echo in my mind and see him smiling, feel him hug me tight.

I pass down knowledge and old sayings from my mom that she passed down to me from her mom. I cook her recipes with our kids. I watch the shows she liked to watch. I buy a book of stamps and think of her behind the counter in her post office when I would stop by with the kids. How her smile would shine when she saw us in line and how proud she was of her job. How it was hard for her to share emotion through words, but she never missed getting or giving a hug. And she always, always said I love you.

I love and miss my mom and dad.
My world - the whole world - is less bright because they are gone.
But the world is so much better for having had them in it.