Dealing With Dying

In my dad's passing, this is the closest I have ever been to a death. It is the heaviest weight I have ever carried, and the lightest of burdens to bear, as I have only love and respect for my dad.

His body is gone.
He is deceased, no longer on Earth.
He is biologically dead.
As a human form, he is no more.

I have to express these things as a way of real-izing them for myself. The last time I saw my dad was in September, prior to moving to Los Angeles. He was as he had been for a long time; gentle-eyed, slow to react, and stuck in that wheelchair. He was merely existing. It's a rotten way to watch somebody go. I don't really know how much of him was still there. He could react with a laugh/cry thing when something funny happened or somebody familiar was near by. But we do know that some of that kind and great man was still in there.

In his passing, my dad fought through a couple of illnesses in the last few weeks. Pneumonia weakened his system, causing very high fevers and breathing problems. The lack of oxygen led to angina. He may have had a mild heart attack. He was suffering, physically. We all hurt to know he was struggling. He deserved much better than this pain.

I last spoke to him on November 15th. My mom held the phone to his ear as his body fought for breath. I told him that i loved him, that I was so proud to be his son, that he was a great father, and that if he was ready, to go on Home. To go on to Heaven. That we'll always love him and we'll see him again. It is never enough, or correct, or timely, to say these things. But my dad, in his 65 years of life, lived with a compassion and love for others and life. And "The Time" had come.

I hung up with my mom and began sobbing harder than I ever have. I told my wife "My dad is dying, honey. He's really dying." We all knew it. Never would I have said it before, in case the mere breathing of the word "dying" would accelerate anything. We truly had him taken from us by the dementia over the past few years. And physically, now, he was dying. His spirit was about to soar, if it had not already been called Home to Heaven. I know that he heard me, regardless.

After hours of crying and planning for a trip home, I slept a bit. I had no dreams I can recall. My phone rang at 5a.m. It was my mom.

My dad, Gerald Embert Lott, Jr., had died.

A man of integrity, character, compassion, love, faith, and humor, had died. A good man. A great father and husband. A man of peace and friendship. They die, too. We all will. So... now what?

After talking with my mom, I felt a lightness. It was either a peace, or an elation, or a relief of a burden I carried. It was like a weight I forgot I had been toting around. Perhaps it was the question "When?" had now been answered. No more waiting. No more anticipation of a phone call that I dreaded knowing the subject of. My dad, now in Heaven, was free of the body that was felled by Dementia. Healed, whole, in the Presence of The Lord.

Knowing this is the greatest comfort I have. I believe we all share this, in my family, and those we know who knew and loved my dad. To know that right now, my dad's spirit has returned to The Glory, the place from which all Creation sprung, to be surrounded by his family from ages past, with his friends who preceded him, begins to erase the pain of missing him.

I want to begin focusing on THAT. On my father's spiritual reward now, I will rest my heart and my thoughts, in knowing he is standing tall, he is speaking with loved ones, he is the Greatest he has ever been. He IS, still.

Were it not for the love he and my mom showed us, the teaching and avenues they directed us towards, and the freedom to choose, I cannot tell you that I would be elated or peaceful. But my father is Home now. Where he wanted to go when this was enough for him.

Amen.