The last time I saw my father, he had already begun his transition out of this life.
We didn't live in the same state and so I hadn't seen him for some months. But we spoke on the phone almost every week. The last phone conversation we had, about a week before his passing, was shorter than most --his voice was faint. I told him I'd be coming to visit the next weekend.
That week, my mom got word to one of my brothers that if there was a way for him to come home, however brief, it was important that he try. He's in the Navy and at that time was off shore and quite a ways away. But he promised he'd do everything he could. My other brother was already in the process of moving back home to help my mom.
As I journeyed to my Parents, part of me sensed that Death was on the doorstep, but another part felt there was a chance that maybe he wouldn't get inside. I prayed. I said affirmations. I tried to stay positive. But when I arrived and saw him, I knew Death had already entered the premises and was giving him time to say goodbye. Not literally say goodbye because at that point my dad was no longer speaking and there was't any indication that he could hear us. But his eyes were open and he was still breathing and I knew in my heart he was holding out for my other brother to get home. By this time, I had confirmation that he was on his way and so my mom and I told my dad and asked him to hold on.
From the moment I saw my dad, I knew his transition was inevitable and I basically began mourning. I was only there for the weekend but I sat with him and helped my mom and other brother do what we could to make him more comfortable.
My mom was/is amazing. My other brother-- the one who was in the process of moving back home-- was/is amazing. My brother in the Navy, ditto.
I left on a Sunday. My brother in the Navy arrived on Monday. My father passed on Tuesday morning.
It's been three years this past September 10th and while the feeling of loss is not as consistent and all consuming as it was-- particularly that first year-- now and again, the tears take over and I just have to give them room and permission to be what they choose to be.
My dad and I were really close. I think of the good memories but I also wish I could have been better at communicating during our not so pleasant interactions. When it came to the latter, I was, honestly, passive aggressive. I didn't speak up when things annoyed me or when I wasn't onboard with how he was going about things and I would get so upset because he didn't seem to see things from my own perspective. But that wasn't fair. How could he see things from my perspective if I didn't give voice to my perspective? As I am my father's daughter, I feel it's fair to say he, too, kept things inside. Actually, looking at my immediate family, I would say it's a shared communication trait that was most likely passed down, but now, my brothers and I, to varying degrees, are working on learning to be better communicators.
I apologized to my dad today for the times I didn't speak up. I apologized for not knowing how and for choosing the default of loaded accusatory silence. I know I--we-- did the best that we could based on what we knew and what we learned from those we grew up with. And while I can't actively practice better communication with him, I'm trying with my mom, my brothers and with others. I think Maya Angelou is quoted as saying, "When you know better, you do better." I'm sorry I didn't know better when he was here, but I'm trying to do better now. Not always "successful" and not always in the moment, but in my own way, I'm trying.
I write this to say that unless one speaks up--actually, unless one communicates (because speaking up and communicating aren't exactly the same concept), it's not fair to believe that others involved know what one is feeling. What may seem "logical" -- no matter the general consensus-- is still a subjective perspective. If something doesn't sit well and the choices are between choosing loaded accusatory silence versus communicating, genuinely give the latter a try. I'm sure life will give us plenty of opportunities to practice.