Yesterdays post has tugged at my heart in an unexpected way.
I wrote about how I held each of my dying parents. It was not completely true...I was not with him when he died. I made several of trips up to my father’s house as he went through the dying process. His home was in a town called Groveland, close to Yosemite, which is 6 hours away from my home. Being the mother of 4 and self employed made the trip tough.
Remembering our last visit is still difficult and heartwarming at the same time. My Dad had so many regrets. He deserted our family when I was about 9 or 10. He had been in and out of the house, caused my sweet mother so much grief and had many affairs before leaving for good. Being in the movie industry allowed him the freedom to give into his weaknesses but his conscience did not grant him grace from his actions. Five of us had reconciled with him over the years but my oldest sister had not. As he lay dying he cried with sorrow at the choices he had made. He asked me if I thought the Big Guy was going to allow him in; his fear and panic were palpable. I reminded him that we have a great big God that loves us with a perfect love. At times, the strong drugs administered to keep him comfortable blurred his sense of reality. He mistook me for my sister Pam and begged me to forgive him. I did. I never told her that and don't know what she would think about it but I'm not sorry I did it.
He still had a full head of gorgeous, baby soft white hair. I caressed it and held him and comforted in the only way I knew how. We don't get training how to say good-bye.....it's not listed on the Schedule of Classes at the local college. I cried with the women that he had created a new family with. I never liked her and she never liked me but we had shared something in this life. We shared the love of and for a very flawed but wonderful man.
Love you Dad.