A prayer for a wary soul

It was in the mid 2000s when my dad informed us that he was diagnosed with Cancer and it was terminal. It was hard for him to deliver the news. He was going to try all the methods but he knew it was pointless – the cancer had metastasized throughout his body; liver, kidneys, bones, lungs, and brain. When I told my boss that I was living between my home and my dad’s, he told me to take time off and deal with my dad – and that he’ll negotiate with the higher-ups paid leave until my dad passed. As a side note, my dad died the last day of my paid leave. It just worked out that way.

I watched him whither away… My first memories of him was that of a vibrant 30 year old man who was athletic (a super athlete – I content even to this day that should my father land in a remote jungle with primitive tribes people, and they played a primitive, never seen before sport – my dad would learn the rules through observation alone, within about 15-minutes and within an hour, would be one of the top players of that sport in the history of that sport. He’s been drafted for Try-outs by several Professional Teams in various sports like Hockey, Baseball and Football. He once played chess against a Grand-Master and won… Won 1 out of the 3 games… But still won one. lol) This isn’t hero worship – I didn’t know my father very well – he worked abroad for 10 to 12 months a year. He was now in his mid-50s and dying, and this was the best time I got to know him, and he slept most of the time and was cranky the rest of the time. It got to the point where I couldn’t take care of him – once the tumors were growing in his brain, he had tremors and seizures. I couldn’t help him with his normal functions and his health like a professional could. By the time he was in palliative care, he was on the maximum dosage of Morphine which just made him sleep. I would sit there for hours watching him sleep – a skeleton with skin. His teeth were falling out, his hair was growing back in patches… His skin almost greenish. A handsome man that women wanted to a barely breathing corpse. Cancer did this do him – I’m sure the Chemo and Radiation didn’t help, along with the 2 to 3 packs of cigarettes a day for 40+ years. And all I can do is recover the memories, as fleeting as they were, of the man that raised me when he was home – and he wanted to be home – not abroad to work… That was just a job, but he had to pay the bills, keep food on the table and clothing on our back and this was the only way he knew how to do it… And he died with regrets – he never took any of the invites to try out for the teams – he did a couple teams, but never followed through – something held him back. He said my mom… But I don’t know this for sure…

So, on the day – I get a call in the morning from the night nurse going off duty – ‘Your dad isn’t doing well, he may not survive the day – you may want to come and be with him.’ I cried – my father was going to die today… I quickly showered, ate something fast and drove to the hospital and found him dead in his bed. I was too late… The sweat was still wet on his brow. His eyes closed – he was asleep when he died. It was the middle of October, raining and cold out that day – it hailed when I was pulling into the Hospital’s parking lot. I found his room – they had moved him during the night – he was alone in his room, near the window, the blind drawn shut… The rain knocking against the glass.

I took a step back away from him – and did a prayer in the middle of the room, alone – for his wary soul. I prayed to the Heavenly Creator to wash this man (that was my father) of his sins and to bathe him in the Glory and Light, and help him transcend to his next life a new man, free of pain, regrets, shame and hurt. That love be his guiding light and joy be his reward. As I prayed, tears streaming down my eyes – a ray of light shun through the window and the blinds over my father.  The light sat upon him for a few seconds – not an entire minute, but a while. Then the day grew cold and wet, and dark again – it was done. The connection that held this man to me and this world, that thread, has been severed. All that will be left of him are his memories.

One day, I’ll be the man in that bed – a skeleton to the people who knew and loved me. One day – someone will stand back and say a prayer for me, with tears running down their face… Our moment is just that, a moment. Life is fleeting when we take it for granted and collect only regrets.

That day was born in me the desire to cultivate Joy and Love in my life and to demonstrate and radiate it in all my words, thoughts and actions. The transformation was as much for me as it was for him. The gift was the transition and being a witness, and being present when I was supposed to be and mindful of the lessons that I was meant to learn and grow from.