The story of life is quicker than the
wink of an eye, the story of love is hello and goodbye...until we meet again. ~
Jimi Hendrix
Yogi Girl has taken quite the hiatus the last few
months from blogging. Life threw me a dagger last month with the death of
my father. I have finally come out from the rock of grief to dedicate
this blog to the sweetest man I will ever know - my father - may he rest in
peace.
We had just come off a great autumn season as a family
(Mike, the girls and myself). The church was doing well, my work was
busy, the girls were flourishing in school and we even fit in a trip to
Asheville to pick apples and experience the fall season.
It was the Tuesday after Thanksgiving when I got a
text from my sister, "Hey, can you talk now - it is important."
My heart sank - I just knew it could not be
good and I just knew whom it was about. So without even answering her
text I called my sister. "What's wrong? " was the first thing I
said. She paused, "It's dad, he's not good." I could tell
in her voice that this was the call she was hoping she would never have to
make. My body, specifically my heart, just started throbbing. The
little girl in me sat immediately and listened to my sister give further
details on my dad's condition. I was crying and had numerous thoughts
running through my head. It was that moment in life where you knew that
this actual moment was inevitable but of course you are always going to think,
"Please not now."
When we decided to move to Florida three years ago,
leave all our family in Minnesota, this was the number one reason of doubt for
me. I will admit that even above leaving everyone, my dad was always tops
in my heart. My dad has always had that special spot in my heart - my
gentle giant as a child, my contemplative adult parent - only raising his voice
when it was SUPER serious. I was and always will be daddy's little girl.
This was going to be a big loss for me and I knew logically that the time
would eventually come but I still kept thinking, "Just not yet."
Over the course of the next few weeks I was updated
on my dad - no one telling me to come up there yet. I was completely
lost. There was so much going on in my Florida life. It was
December so it was a busy time of year for everyone. My heart was torn
apart with the questions, "What should I do?" Did I need to see
my dad one more time?" I kept rationalizing it - trying to convince
myself that the human body is not permanent but the spirit is - playing the
stoic. I tried to use my yoga philosophy of non-attachment to reconcile
my feelings but it just was not giving me the answers I needed.
The Saturday before Christmas I was informed that
my dad had stopped eating. It was 7:15am in the morning. My schedule was
packed between work and church. Again, I kept thinking, "What
should I do?" When I talked to my mom I could tell that even though
she would not say you should come up here, I could tell in her voice that I
needed to come up there - NOW! After getting off the phone with her I
booked the quickest flight of my life. I have never just booked a flight
without scrutinizing - all I could think of was "Get me up there!"
So I quickly called everyone that I needed to and I prepared to see my
dad for the last time.
The entire flight up to Minnesota was excruciating,
I cried the whole way thinking that my father would die before I got there.
It was official; I needed to see my dad one last time.
My father, Thomas Wallander was the third son of
nine children. Can we say Catholic family? He was a handsome man -
at least I think so and a lot of other women have told me this as well.
He served in the army during the Korean War and like a lot of GIs he
returned from duty to work and raise a family. He was the father of seven
children. He worked hard for decent money but if we are honest - it was
not a lot of money. I still wonder to this day how they raised seven kids
on one salary. I'm sure many of my siblings would say we went without a
lot of things but really did we? We had a home (yes it was really small),
we had food, clothes (a lot of hand-me-downs), health care, and Catholic
schooling and we had two parents committed to raising a large family.
I remember once overhearing my parents arguing,
probably about money and I thought, maybe life would be easier if they did not
have so many kids. So I said to my dad, "Dad, do you ever wish you
didn't have seven kids?" He looked at me and said without
hesitation, " I wish I could have had a dozen more." I have
never once doubted my dad's love for me and my family.
Family meant everything to my dad. I know my
experience is different from each of my six siblings for it just always is.
I was the baby of the family - that can never change. I was both
spoiled and neglected on some levels but always loved. I got my dad at
the end of his career - he retired when I was in high school. I remember
him waking me up and making breakfast for me before I went to school. He
always made my basketball games and music performances. I was lucky to
get my dad at this time in his life.
I remember staying up with my dad as a kid watching
Johnny Carson and Cheers. By the time they got to raise number seven I
think bedtime was nonexistent. I remember his deep laugh as we watched
Bugs Bunny cartoons on Saturday mornings and how he would kiss me goodnight and the feel of his "whisker rub" on my cheek.
It is so easy to look upon death and be sad about
the person we lose and how we don't get them here on earth any longer.
Yet, there is so much I am thankful for. My dad saw me through so
many major life events. He taught me how to ride a bike - something I
still enjoy to this day. He saw me graduate from high school and college.
He walked me down the aisle at my wedding and he helped Mike and I raise
our two daughters. He saw us move away to Florida to further Mike's career.
He may not of liked it but in the end I think he understood why we had to
do it.
Finally, I was able to slowly grieve my father's
death. I got to say, "Goodbye, I love you," to my father one
last time....
I arrived late on that Saturday night to find my
dad in his bed resting. I touched his arm and said, "Dad, it's
Esperanza, number seven, all the way from Florida." He opened his
eyes, smiled and said, "Yes, the last one made it." My heart
rejoiced, he remembered me. Then he said, "Did you bring the
girls?" My heart sank a little but then I realized he still remembered
his "little angels" and this made me so happy. We talked for a
while - his speech was hard to understand because of his breathing but it
didn't matter, we didn't need words we just needed right there and then.
I cried but I was also so relieved. All my internal turmoil was
gone. I was here to see him one last time. The big question that kept
haunting me throughout much of December was answered. I needed to see my
dad one last time and I would.
The course of the next 30 hours was full of family,
memories and preparing for our dad's departure from this physical world.
My dad got to see all seven of his kids and many other family members in
those last hours.
I didn't sleep much for I knew sleep would come
after. The last night I was with my dad I was awoken from a deep sleep at
about 2am. I think I sensed a change. His breathing had changed -
it was more labored. I was schedule to leave at 5am to catch my flight
back to Florida. I took those final hours to sit and just be with my dad.
I kissed him, held his hands and told him many times both out loud and
inside, " I love you."
When I finally left his bedside for the airport I
just got a sense that the end was very near. I told this to my sister as
she drove me to the airport. As I was boarding my connecting flight about
2 hours later in Chicago my sister called to tell me that our dad had just
died. She said that I was right about him being at the end. I
boarded the plan with massive tears falling from my eyes. Tears of
sadness, gut wrenching pain of loss and tears of thankfulness as well - I got
to truly say goodbye to my dad.
As I flew home looking out my window at the sun and
white puffy clouds I thought, "Dad is flying with me - dad is free - dad can
finally breathe."
Tears of loss ran down my face most of the flight
but tears of no regrets ran as well. I will never forget the 37 years I
knew my dad as that soft-spoken man with a big heart for his children and
grandchildren. I will never regret those 30 hours I spent with my dad
preparing him and myself for his last few breath's. He died in peace in
his own home with his wife of 62 years by his side - his one last request.
I truly believe my dad is still here - here in my
heart - always and forever. I will always cherish the 37 years of
memories and those final, holy hours with you dad. I am blessed to be
your daughter, your little girl forever. Until we meet again dad - I will
always love you.
