Old Age Day by Day September 25, 2013

This date is the anniversary of the day my father died.  It was almost thirty years ago, but I miss him still.  A few years later my husband's mother died on this date.  But what a difference.  My dad was involved passionately with us right up until the end.  My husband's mother, under the cloud of depression, had withdrawn and been uncommunicative for many years.  My father died at home, as he wished, with his two children around, and his beloved grandchildren seeing him right before.  I was not with him when he last breathed, but was beside him soon after and held his hand for hours before he was taken away and cremated.  I had said everything that needed to be said, as had he.  I knew the memorial service was as he wished, because he planned it himself, and asked his friend to speak at the service.  I knew what he wanted done with his ashes.  The will was crystal clear.  He had organized his papers, and thrown out what he didn't want saved or read.  He tried to make as little trouble for us as possible.  That still touches me.  I hope he knows he put his four grandchildren through college, and helps with their lives to this day.  He's given me a chance to travel, and be generous with family and friends, and feel secure, and live in a nice neighborhood in a great house.  He was a patriarch, which has it's bad and good sides.  He thought he knew what was best for everyone, and had vocal opinions.  I learned to decide for myself what was good for me and to never assume I knew what was best for my kids.  He could change, and late in life wanted to know what had hurt me.  I adore him for that bravery.  I never doubted for a minute that he loved me and wished me happiness.  He gave me security and joy.  He's in my heart forever.