Courage [Revisited]

I posted over at Authentic Realities today on the courage my father showed in sharing my mother's death with me, so I thought I'd re-share with you a related post.


Courage, from Sept 2008:

From 7 Days:

My father was the epitome of courage, although I didn't realize it until after he died. There was one single moment in my life where everything changed.

Everything.

My father pulled into the driveway of the placement home I lived in when I was sixteen and said six words.

Six.

"It’s your mother. She’s dead, Dian."

And thus began my new life.

When my father got sick two years ago, my first emotion was relief; many more would follow. Since my mother's death I’d spent the better part of fourteen years wondering when my father was going to take his turn. I did not dread his death, but felt relief in moving forward. Forward without the anticipation, the anxiety of wondering how my father was going to leave my life.

My mother left unexpectedly, abruptly; my father gave me time to adjust. Time to say good-bye. Time to say all the things I would need to say in order to bury him without regrets; in order to be buried without regrets.

I wondered for years who would break the news of my father's death to me. It never occurred to me that he would be the one. It never occurred to me that I would walk him through it. It never occurred to me that I would watch his last breath heave into his chest and be slowly released. It never occurred to me that I would feel the last beat of his heart with my own hand on his chest. It never occurred to me that I would cherish that moment; just as I’d learned to cherish those six words my father had spoken all those years ago.

My father was not a man of wealth in large bank accounts, but a man of wealth in the courage he held quietly in his heart. My father loved me, of this I am sure. Not because he told me, but because he showed me. His soul spoke six words to me as I held my hand on my father’s chest.

It’s your father. I’m dead, Dian.