A chance to say goodbye

The passing of a legacy and a chance to say goodbye I still remember that day in May of 1989 as the ER doctor turned off the life support equipment and whispered the words that shook my life, "It's over, record the time of death." "He lost his mother three weeks ago." "I'm not going to tell him, you tell him." The voices were a blur as the realization struck me; my father had died. My mentor and best friend had left me. I was still just a young kid despite being married with a baby of my own. We were supposed to have longer than this, Dad. The door to the operating room opened and a young woman came out. Her eyes were red and full of tears as she struggled to find the right words to tell me what I already knew. 'Save it." I told her, "I heard." The doctors and nurses filed out quietly and I walked into the room where my Dad's body lay partially covered. His gentle heart had stopped beating; eyes that sparkled with deep wisdom were dark and closed to me now. I wept uncontrollably. I had just left him 20 minutes ago and he was fine. My despair turned to rage as my fist smashed through a small coffee table. The pain was too much, first Mom and now Dad, all in under a month. This wasn't happening it couldn't be happening! Oh God, let me wake up from this nightmare. I stood in disbelief as I was handed the veterans flag at his funeral, I watched as people were leaving the cemetery but I couldn't move my legs, I couldn't leave him.. alone, in a cemetery. My wife and my aunt guided me away toward the awaiting limousine. Everything after was a fog and haze of apologies and sympathies from people I knew and some that I didn't. I just wanted it to be over so I could come to grips and figure out how to cope with the fact that I had lost both my parents. Time passed and the burdens of my own family weighed heavily upon me. I felt alone and isolated. I looked at my son and my new baby daughter and felt the pang of loss because they would never know their grandparents, they would never experience the warmth of that special house that I was privileged to grow up in or hear the stories about their father as only a grandparent can tell. They would be less for not knowing my parents and there was nothing I could do to replace that void not only in their lives, but in mine as well. Like all painful things, time and life causes us to bury the hurt and move on with life's drama. I became bitter and resentful at my loss and had placed a wall around myself isolating me from my wife and children. I had lost so much and was so angry and had nowhere to vent my pain or my frustration. My son was five years old when he came across an old photo album of black and white pictures. Tommy, my son, having never seen a black and white picture before, brought the album to me and began asking questions as only a five year old can. The album belonged to my parents and contained memories from my childhood. There were pictures from Christmas Eve 1967 and up to the late 70's; my childhood. I saw pictures of my parents as young vibrant adults just beginning their family and their lives together; I saw pictures of me as an infant and a toddler. I explained to Tommy that these were my parents. I remember him asking the question about where they were and the flood gate of painful emotions that quickly followed. Even now, five years later it still hurt. I felt the warm tears run down my cheeks as I explained that my parents were in Heaven and the he wouldn't be able to see them or visit with them, but that they were looking down at him always. I explained what a great man my Dad was and what a patient and caring role model he was for me. I told him about my mother and how she used to keep me in line and some of the funny things I did as a kid growing up. As I talked about them and shared the memories, the pain and heaviness of my heart eased somewhat. I spent a great deal of time with that photo album and my son on my lap paging through my childhood captivating him with stories of my folks and my memories. It was at that point my son made an observation that I'll never forget. He looked up at me and said the following. "Daddy, they're not really gone, you still have them in here," He said pointing to my heart. I looked at my son and smiled warmly. Out of the mouths of babes.. I patted him on the head and told him that he was right, as long as they were in our hearts they would always be with us. I could keep my Dad alive by passing on what I learned from him to my son and by emulating my dad's wisdom and compassion. My son is a young man now, seventeen. We've had our ups and downs over the typical teenager issues. Life has thrown some curves and sliders, as it does to all who take life's journey. I find more and more of my Father in me as I deal with my children, its funny how he'll surface in the most unusual ways. I was ranting at my two oldest about the lost art of turning off a light when leaving a room. I was deep into my lecture about how I don't want to support Mass Electric when I had a flashback to my father saying the exact same thing to me. My smirk didn't fit with my lecture and I chuckled to myself as I simply walked away convincing my kids that I was fit for the funny farm. Even now, he was still inside me, popping up when I least expected it. About two months ago I was facing a serious crossroads in my life. I needed advice and didn't know where to turn. I found myself at the cemetery talking to my dad and asking all the questions I would be asking if he were still alive. I told him how funny it was that at 42 years of age I still hadn't learned all the answers to all the questions; I still needed help with the big things. I went home hoping that I'd be able to figure it all out and went to bed frustrated at my inability to solve my problem. I can't explain what happened or why, but I remember walking into the house where I grew up. The kitchen was as I remembered it from my childhood, the paisley wallpaper and the hideous white linoleum tiles and my mother's annoyingly loud clock. I sat at the kitchen table taking in the surroundings and questioning my state of mind. My father walked into the kitchen and poured me a cup of coffee and then poured one for himself and sat down at the table across from me. He began discussing the problem I had discussed at his headstone. Part of me questioned the reality of the situation, part of me knew it was a dream and then something else was elated at the sight of the man I'd missed for seventeen years. My Father was like the pictures in my photo album, portly with jet black hair like I remembered him from my early teen years; he always had that happy grin and the sparkle of deep intelligence in his eyes. My dad talked in detail about my issue, examining the problem from every conceivable angle and presenting multiple solutions. I soon dismissed the sense of disbelief and surrendered to the dream, the coffee was heavenly and I relished our discussion. A half hour on the kitchen clock had expired and I had my answers. I looked at my dad in disbelief, it had all come so easily for him and he had seen solutions where I had only seen obstacles. Again, I marveled at his genius. We talked about growing up, my kids, my childhood and several other topics. I look back now and it all seems jumbled. He glanced up at the clock and I saw a flash of regret and longing in those eyes. He stood up, took my coffee cup and placed it in the sink. I heard the sound of my Mother's voice, calling him from the bedroom in the back of the house. "My times about up, son," he said sadly. I chuckled; Mom was still nagging him even in the after life. "I've missed you, so much." I said as I felt my eyes water. We hugged briefly and said our goodbye, the goodbye I never got to say all those years ago. As he walked away he turned. "I'm always watching, we'll talk again." He whispered as he vanished from my sight. I looked at the kitchen that had seemed so real only moments ago, begin to fade. The sound of the alarm clock shattered my fading dream and dragged me back to the plane of consciousness. I awoke instantly and began questioning the content of my experience; was it a dream? Was I crazy? I remembered the contents of our discussion and the solution to my situation. I also had awakened with that bitter coffee aftertaste in my mouth that came from drinking my father's brand of coffee, a taste I hadn't experienced for several years. I still had his legacy and I got the chance to say goodbye. My Father said we would talk again; I believe it and look forward to another discussion in the old kitchen where I grew up so many years ago. I realized how right my son's words were so many years ago, we always have our loved ones with us in our hearts and in our minds, as long as we love and remember them they'll always be alive within us.