Nutmeg’s Joe Died

A couple of days ago, I was reading a beautiful little post by Simplynutmeg.com entitled, ‘I Will Not Tally’, where she was sharing that someone she cared deeply about, Joe, had died.

As I read her post, my mind immediately flashed back to the deaths of my two parents. And I left her this comment:

“When my father passed in 2000, at age 80, peacefully in his sleep, the morning after we all had such a great goodbye session with him, with him laughing and all, and very calm, my niece was asleep on on a waiting room bench outside of his room. After she woke up, she told us all that she had the strangest dream just then. She dreamed that a beautiful woman, dressed in a flowing, wispy white gown, had come in through the door of my father’s hospital room, walked over to his bed, reached out and took his hand, and then they both got up and walked easily out through the door and were gone.
Before he passed, my father could hardly walk. My mother passed in 1984, at age 62. My brother and sisters figure that my mother came to get him, and now they are together again, like they were some 45 years before she passed. She passed easily in her sleep, after suffering so for almost 3 years on a slow, downhill, roller-coaster slide. So sorry you lost Joe for now. He’s OK. You’ll see, some day. Peace to you…”

I feel kind of bad for leaving Nutmeg such a long comment, but those thoughts that flooded into my mind then, were so strong. I thought perhaps they might help provide a small measure of peace to help with her grief and pain.

During the family celebration the afternoon before my father died, he was remarkably candid, calm and composed, as well as still has his great sense of humor.

He went around the room and talked about each one of us, and told us how much he loved us and that we should not grieve for him, but be happy for him, for he knew he was shortly leaving this world and leaving his pain and suffering behind, and would soon be reunited with those who crossed over before him.

I know that sounds corny, but that’s what he said, as he sat on the side of his bed, saying to us all what he wanted to say. I think my brother and sisters, my wife, and those grandkids who were also there, were so glad that this final ‘get-together’ was taking place, as everyone got to say goodbye, and I love you.

That evening, Myself and one or two others, sat with him all night, staying awake as best we could. In the morning, our other siblings came to stay with Dad, so we could get some sleep. I wasn’t there with him when he died, but, that was OK. He knew that I loved him, and would take care of things for him afterwards. And, I knew that he loved me.

Shortly after he had passed during mid morning, we siblings all arrived back at the hospitol room, and were sitting in the waiting room, next to my father’s room where his body still was, just talking about what to do next.

That’s when my niece spoke up and told us about the dream she had outside of her grandpa’s room, as he slipped silently away into the afterlife.

After she finished telling her dream, we all looked at each other, silently, until one of us spoke up and said, “Are you kidding me?”

As bad as we all felt about his passing, even when we got to prepare for it, and knew it was imminent, her story was like a gift from above.

It was as if we all instantly, silently accepted her dream as, “Yah, that’s what happened all right. Mom came and got him, and now, they are together again.” It was like a heavy weight was lifted off from our shoulders. And now we could go about the process of preparing for his funeral, with our hearts and our grief, much lighter than before.

What a final, beautiful gift that was to all of us!

Thanks again, Dad.