Papa, Can You Hear Me?

/

Papa, Can You Hear Me?

 
“O God, Our Heavenly Father,
O God, and my father Who is also in heaven.
May the light of this flickering candle illuminate the night the way Your Spirit illuminates my soul...”
— Yentl
 

There is nothing quite like the liquid voice of Barbra Streisand to touch emotions and our hearts. Here in the movie Yentl, she sings to her God in the heavens and to her own father who recently died and who is also in heaven.

A Father And A Daughter

For a daughter whose papa has passed on, this song is perfumed with the father-daughter love they shared and her longing to still be connected with him. If only he could hear her and offer his advice.

Yentl prays in the forest with nature surrounding her, and reaches out to the stars twinkling above her. Isn’t it interesting how we so often turn to the stars in these moments? Pinpricks of twinkling light that are millions of light years away and yet they bring us comfort as if something deep inside, the cells of our bodies resonate with the same elements that make up those distant stars.

 
“Papa, how I love you,
Papa, how I need you,
Papa, how I miss you kissing me good night...”
 

Grief In Our Lives

All of our emotions, not just the happy ones, are part of the kaleidoscope colors of our lives – expanding colors that constantly change as they vary in shape and hue. Even when life lies broken around us, we walk through the jagged parts and continue the dance of life.

Does the loss go away? Not really. We live with it, we are shaped by it. The grief becomes a part of our life’s dance in a certain way we hold our head, gesture with a hand, or in the way we cross a room.

We are changed. The traces of our love and loss are etched on us and are their own pinpricks of light shining within.

 

Forever Morning Of Awakening

/

I Wish It Could Be Morning Forever

Is it truly possible that in all these years of my life, I have really not done anything?

Isn't it strange that after achieving three university degrees, publishing two articles in medical journals, singing with the San Francisco International Opera, working in the legal field, living abroad, and providing medical care for thousands of patients, that you could feel like, well... haven't done that much.

It's as if that was then, and this is now.

No One Described This Part

No one tells you about this getting older part when everything turns inside out. When all the accomplishing, the achieving, the goals obtained, start to fade into dust-like particles.

Don't get me wrong, I'm really glad I did all those things, it's just that now...

What Will Be Of These Last Years Of My Life?

Assuming all goes well, knock on wood, I'll only have about another 20 to get things done. And even considering that, who cares what a 70-year-old says or does?

No one.

I'm already experiencing that in my 50s, it can only go down from here. Yikes. I feel like I've only got a day left to do everything.

Hence, why I want it to remain forever morning.

Early Morning Is Mystical

A forever morning evokes a precious jewel box, tucked inside is the sparkling promise of an entire day. The jewel held inside has awakening, coffee, projects, and plans. Everything can still be accomplished.

Heralded by those first rays of a dawning sun, an early morning is rich with secrets of all that is fresh and new. Yesterday's heavy energies are muted by the softness of a healing night that has passed.

This magical prelude to the day is brief. I drink it in with my coffee and savor the fleeting sparkles of the day's promises.

Wishing for it to linger, I attempt to persuade these ephemeral moments to tarry, but the steadfast sun pays me no heed and moves ever upward in its determined climb.

Full morning bursts upon the scene accompanied by a din of noise pouring forth from the flurry of activities.

Gratitude Each Morning

Each morning graciously presents another opportunity to travel from sunrise to sunset.

Awakening. From hazy dreams, we awaken to the morning, to the meaning of our lives.

We stride into a forever morning of awakening. Sometimes, we stumble. Just keep going.

 

When There Is Only Love

/

When Nothing Is Left

It seems like nothing is left when those you love are gone.

After a death of a loved one, you're particularly clumsy and awkward as if you've acquired a unique ability to trip over any and everything.

When my father died, I would often hear a mantra echoing in my mind, telling me to "just hold on..." as I stumbled through my life. But I didn't know what I was supposed to be holding on to.

And Then I Remembered

There really is nothing to hold on to.

In the end, there is only Love.

And even that, you don't hold on to it. You just "be."

 

iconic image by Robert Indiana, 1960s

 

A Day To Be Dying

/

What A Day

Today is the day our loved one is dying? “No. Not today. No to death.”

At the cellular level of our bodies, of all organic matter, we are programmed to survive. Programmed to fight death with all we’ve got.

However.

A Final Performance Awaits

Each one of us has been issued a ticket to a last performance.

The very moment we are born, a death sentence is also handed out. It's as if a personal engraved invitation to the event is created, but we can't find the date and time on it.

No matter.

The date and time will find us.

Steve Jobs offered this quote:

 
“If you live each day as if it were your last,
someday you’ll most certainly be right.”
 

Facing Death At The Hospital

It's one thing to say these words and quite another to live them.

The hospital called when my father was admitted. I figured it was just another "tune-up" admission. He'll be admitted for a few days and then sent back home.

This time, however, the doctor insisted I should come. I asked if my father were dying. She skirted around those words and would only say that it was serious. "You should come."

I hastily booked a plane ticket.

Get Back, Death

As much as I tried to defy and force back the hovering clouds of Death waiting to lift our dad away from us, I had no personal power to alter the upcoming event.

My father's heart and kidneys were failing. He was, without question, in a dying process; no other options remained.

My failed attempts to battle and then to bargain with Death brought home the realization of just how small I really was.

Holding A Vigil

With my father in his hospital bed, the family came to visit. We talked.

We recounted stories about the "good old days" and our many adventures together. He was completely past-oriented. When I mentioned something I was going to do in the future, he scarcely heard me. He would pause with a far off look in his eye and immediately return to past events.

Although he didn't eat much, we ordered a few special food requests.

We were blessed to have him for one more week; many people were able to say goodbye.

In the time we still had, it was a good day.

Only Love Remains

My father remained entirely lucid to his last moments. He knew he was dying and accepted this fact with unbelievable equanimity. His calm ability to face the upcoming event took my breath away. His steadiness inspired awe in all who came to see him.

Fully aware his death was coming, he simply asked to not be “hurried along,” then he would add that he didn't want to be a burden either. I did everything in my power to honor his request to not rush the process.

In those last days, with heart-aching wonder, my dad spoke of love like he never had before; how important it is and how essential to tell others that you love them. He worried he had not said it enough.

"Don't worry," we told him, "we knew."

We always knew.

No Matter The Day

Each day I drove to the hospital to see him, I wondered if that very day would be *the* day of his last breath. I constantly reminded myself that this was a part of life even though it gave me little comfort.

Thus, it will be for all of us. I wonder if I'll manage to be even half as brave as my father when that final, dying moment comes.

But, no matter. When that moment comes, it will be my day. When that moment comes for you, it will be your day. All our days will be held in one final breath. 

* * * * *
My dad's favorite dog, German Shorthaired Pointer
The Dying Lion of Lucerne, Switzerland