Reflections On My Father's Death

I held my father's hand for the last two days of his life. It was frail and weak- but warm. When I would move my hand away for a moment, he would reach for it again, ever so slightly. At times he appeared nearly comatose. But still if I moved my hand, he would reach for it.

I played his favorite song, "Some Enchanted Evening." His face- nearly expressionless with the coming of death- shifted ever so slightly. I saw his lips move just a touch as he tried to sing the notes which had once emanated like gold from his velvet throat. My father had the voice of an angel- with a quiver on the high notes that could move you to tears.

We sat there, he and I, in the silence- knowing we would never again sing together on some long car ride to somewhere. The love and sadness were so strong that I couldn't speak. The water came and dripped slowly down my face. I let it go. Wiping seemed so useless. His head drooped forward. It was too heavy for him to hold up. Now and again he made me to understand that his nose was running. So I wiped it gently. And that was when I saw the presence of tear drops in his nearly sightless eyes.

Never believe that people who are dying do not know what is happening.

No-one said a word for hours it seemed. It was the most pain that I had ever felt.

But I would not have put myself in any other place on the face of this earth.

And every day of my life, you will be with me in my heart.

My father.

My hero.

The love of my life.