Tuesday, July 11, 2006
It just struck me, looking at the calendar, today is the 10 year anniversary of my father’s death.
I remember waking up with a nagging feeling that I should go home, to Augusta. July 11, 1996 was a Thursday. I was planning to go home for the weekend on Friday anyway, so I ignored the restless feeling. (I had been going home every Friday for weeks, to nurse Dad through the weekends and give Mother a break.) That morning, my chest actually hurt, for no reason I could figure out.
When I got to work, everything felt strange, and
my chest pain increased. I had to go to the bank about mid-morning and
get some checks to send with some subpoenas to witnesses in a case. I
went inside the bank – Trust Company,
ironically, the bank where my father worked for most of his career.
When I got back to the car and sat down, I felt a terrible pain in my
chest, like someone had hit me with a sledgehammer. It scared me. I
looked at my watch. It was 11:30.
I sat there a few minutes, and the pain subsided. I decided not to go
to the emergency room. There was enough drama. I drove to Arby’s and got a sandwich.
I went back
to the office, and took my food into the break room. I got a call in
there and was told to go back to my desk, that she would put through a
call to me there. As soon as I sat down at my desk, a buddy of mine came in, then Genevieve, my boss. I looked at their eyes and knew there was something terrible happening. The phone rang and I picked it up. My Mother’s
voice, shaky, told me Dad had died. I was stunned. He had cancer, but
we felt like it would be weeks before he died. I had seen him the
previous Sunday and he was sitting in his chair, watching TV, when I
left. I had kissed him goodbye and told him I loved him. He was wearing
shorts and an Olympics tee shirt I had bought for him. He was on a lot of pain meds, but he didn’t look like he was at death’s door
When Mother told me Dad had died I started crying,
and had to hand the phone to someone else. There were a few minutes of
confusion. Eventually, I got my things and left, trying not to cry as I
walked out of the office, then the building. I drove back to my
apartment. I packed up the black cotton dress
my mother had given me for my birthday just a week before that. I told
one of the neighbors I was going to Augusta. I felt like the world had
just ended.
I don’t
remember a lot about the rest of that terrible day. I do recall,
vividly, my brother telling me he and Mother were standing next to Dad
when he died, holding his hands, and it was 11:30. That was the moment
I felt the crushing chest pain. I think I felt my Mother’s
pain. Dad was free, out of pain, but Mother was left without her love
of almost 40 years. I have always had a psychic bond with my mother. I don’t think love knows boundaries of time and space.
I felt so bad that I had ignored my inner voice that morning. If I had gone home when I felt the urge to go, I would’ve
been with Dad when he died. Since that day, I have tried to listen to
that voice, not to ignore it. I have had many things happen to me since
then that cannot be explained by conventional methods. I think of them
simply as my tuning into the spiritual world, trying to open myself up to a different awareness and not close my mind. Although it’s scary at times, this has been an overwhelmingly positive process.
I have tried to get Alesia to think about the two worlds we live in – the real world, and the world of the spirit. She knows I believe in psychic powers, and ghosts, and reincarnation. I’ve tried to get her to see that both worlds are equally valid. At church, when we say the Nicene Creed, I always think of this when we say “I believe in all things, seen and unseen.” To really believe in God, I think we have to acknowledge that unseen world. We have to believe in magic – love IS magic. God IS love.
Three days after his death, my father came to me in a dream. It was totally unlike a normal dream – it was in vivid colors. I was standing in a beautiful place, a place that looked a little like a European train station, but totally clean and white, and filled with light. I was alone.
I looked up and Dad came striding toward me, walking with a jaunty lift
to his step that indicated he was in a good humor. He was wearing a
beautiful 3 piece suit, and he was healthy again, and tanned, and
smiling. He came up to me and hugged me close. When he stepped away, he
looked at me and said “It’s OK.” I knew what he was trying to say – everything will be fine, you’ll be OK. I am going to a better place. The dream ended. I woke up feeling much better, feeling a sense of relief that I hadn’t failed him.
Months ago,
when I first started thinking seriously about adopting another child, I
looked at hundreds of photolistings. I wanted to take each child home.
It was heartbreaking, and impossible to choose. I said a prayer and asked God to give me a sign, a way to tell which child should be mine. (I sometimes do that. God never lets me down.) Shortly after that – whether it was an hour or a few days I really don’t remember – I saw Igor. I looked at his unsmiling face in the little photo, and thought, he looks like Bruce [my brother]. Then I looked at his information. He was born in July 1996 – the month my father died. What clearer sign could there be?
I haven’t gotten the final copy of the home study, so I haven’t
been able to finish the dossier of documents needed for the adoption.
However, I feel confident I can finish them up and send everything off
in the next couple of weeks. Bringing
a new life into the family, a little boy who took his first breath just
a week after my father died, will be a wonderful way to honor my
father. He always thought adoption was a great thing, and an adopted child could be totally loved, no differently
than a biological child. We discussed that one day when he was thinking
about urging my brother and his wife to adopt.
I am a very different person than I was ten years ago. I feel like a real “grownup” now. I understand a lot more about what is important in life. It’s not about being famous, or rich –
I used to crave those things. No, life is so much more than those silly
things. Life is about planting a garden and watching things grow. Life
is about taking care of people you love, and telling them you love them
every day, even when they get on your nerves. Life is about creating a home, a haven, a place where you can put down roots, and at the same time, grow wings.
[Note: there is a photo of my father in the photo album, but you have to zip through the photos a bit.]
Recent Comments