Daddy died today.

Daddy died. Am I really saying the words? Today has been a blur, and I can't sleep (And now today has become yesterday!).  I went to check on Daddy this morning before I went on my (planned) 6:00 walk.  I knew as soon as I opened the bedroom door. Mom sat up in bed when I cracked the door. "He won't wake up. Will you wake him up for me?" I moved to his side, and in the dim light saw his face, at peace.

The day before was Josh's birthday, and the day after Joseph's. I whispered in his ear the day before, "Daddy, I know you're in pain. Today is Joshie's birthday. I don't want you to hurt. I really don't. But would you do one more thing for me? Would you wait till tomorrow?" He waited. There will be no birthday reminders of "the day Grandpa died." Thank you, Daddy.

The night before, we had gathered in their room, my brothers and sister, and nearly half of their grandchildren. We sang, we laughed, we shared, we cried. Mom delighted in the affair, as Daddy lay propped beside. "More, more," Mom insisted.  A tear crept down Daddy's face, but no sound from his mouth. What did he hear? What did he know? How did he feel? How much did he hurt? Did he know we loved him? Did he know how much we would miss him? ( I thought I knew, but had no idea, really!). As we went around the circle, we named the names of our children, and their children, telling him that each one loved him. We shared stories of visits made to grandchildren near and far. We thanked him for living a life of integrity and love. We read Psalm 139. Mom prayed, followed by the prayers of others. We thought he'd wake up one more morning. He didn't.

I quietly went from room to room, awakening his sleeping children and grandchildren, telling the somber news. My children--how would I make it without them?  Phone calls to family and friends. Tears flowed. Hugs. More hugs.  Dr. B came bringing comfort, as he had the night before, and the week before, and other times. His care has extended throughout the cycle of our family life, from births of sons to the passing of our Daddy. We are grateful.

Pastor Bill and Sue knock at the door. Their visits have meant so much to Daddy and Mom over the past few weeks, and to all of us. They pray  and hug us. Thank you.

Food arrives, but I'm not hungry. It looks delicious. Where's my appetite? It's not often gone! 89 years wasn't long enough.

I call Hospice to let them know. They make calls. I don't have to. I am grateful for their compassion and practical help in knowing what needs to be done next.

All the while, Mom is awake. I help her get dressed. She's confused. "He's gone," she says, "He's away." She comes out of the room where he lies, "gone." She sits at the table and eats. She gets up, and heads back for the room. She goes to his side, feels his forehead and cheeks, and says "He's cold." She pulls the covers up. "We've got to keep him warm." She leans over and kisses him. "He's not there." My heart breaks. My precious mother, for 65+ years warmed his heart, and his body, and he, hers. "I'm alone now,"  she says. Several more times she returns to the room, "their" room. Mom, we promised Daddy we'd take care of you. We will.

Thank God for Wellspring, adult respite care. Today is the day. Lee, my beloved husband, and sons Joseph and Jonny take her for hot chocolate on the way. She loves Lee, and he her. She grips his arm as he leads her in. She begs him to stay. He does, for awhile. While she is gone, the funeral home comes. The room is empty now. It is no longer "theirs," but "hers." We cry.

Susan, my dear sister in law, and Katrina, caregiver unparallelled, go shopping. They bring home a beautiful pink comforter for Mom's bed. They change bedding and clean the room. Mom will like it. It will be a nice surprise for her. They arrange a new doll and stuffed animals on the bed. She comes home and is delighted.

I think my writing is sounding like we wrapped things up in a neat and tidy package, saying our good byes in ways that matter. For the time we had, I'm grateful. I'm glad we had opportunity "at the end" to sing and share and pray and read Psalms. But this is no neat and  tidy business. I don't like it, not one bit. I'm haunted by the "would've could've should'ves. I'm trying not to ruminate over them. I think part of it's just my process, and each has his or her own. And I know this isn't about me at all. I want to honor the man I was privileged to call Daddy. I want to have faith and trust and all the other "stuff" that some people seem to have much more easily than I. I want to sleep and wake up and have him be my Daddy of his younger-years, and  shave a few years off my own. I want heaven on earth, now.

I'm SO thankful for the love and encouragement and prayers and food and flowers and practical help of friends and family. I need the connection more than ever of people I'm privileged to have as family and friends. Right now, I need to get some sleep. There's so much more on my heart.