Day 31: a vivid memory
Irony is being two days late on the last blog entry of thirty days of blogging. I could not figure out what vivid memory to share. What makes any memory vivid? And the ones that I thought of first were traumas that are better left in the past. Here goes…
It was so hospital cliche, the sights, the sounds, the smells… My Dad asked to see me and I walked through the big doors at the right time to not get squished. I guessed which curtain he was laying behind, took a deep breath, and went in. I knew this was just the waiting time for hip surgery, but something in my spirit knew that this was also going to be the last time he and I spoke. At first, I pulled out my sock knitting as a way to distract myself, but realized that I needed to make the of the opportunity. I looked into his eyes and saw something, some form of confirmation that I had been dreading since March…he was going to die soon. I folded my arms and rested my chin in them as I laid on his legs. I said in my heart, “I love you, I forgive you, goodbye.” I reached for his hand and held it. Suddenly I was transported to a different time, and my hand felt the size of a small child’s in his big Dad hand. I was younger, vulnerable, and afraid. I looked into his eyes and I believe he responded in his heart with “I love you, goodbye.” I was so overwhelmed. We eventually went up to the operating room as a family. While my family went to a room, again I was with him. He began to whimper like a small child, “I don’t want to go.” He was younger, vulnerable, and afraid. I comforted him and said it was going to be ok. As he went to surgery, we all said goodbye. He went robe with Jesus two days later.