-from Josh Groban’s To Where You Are
For the first time in my life, I will celebrate Christmas this year without my dad. The man who knew me longer than any other passed away on August 14. My dad was 70.
It has been said that the loss of a parent is one of life’s most traumatic events. I now know the devastating truth of that statement. I have been told that, in time, the hurt will fade, only to be replaced by positive memories that soothe the soul. Already, I can feel that happening.
Maybe it’s because my father and I had a simple and loving relationship. He was a remarkably good man. He was a man of few words but I knew he was very smart and thought about many things he didn’t express.His greatest accomplishment was family. And as his eldest child, I have seen how he supported us. My father poured vast amounts of love and energy into me during my most formative years. That is why I measure his life in the warm embraces he gave me. Because what I remember most about my father are those big hugs he always gave me every time I am home. From my earliest days, we have spent so much time together. I remember those times I went home to visit, we would end up spending our time together in the living room watching movies. We did not talk much, although there were many things I was aching to speak with him about, he is never been one to paw over the past.
And I remember these things as if we had done them all last weekend — because we did them again and again and again, his outstretched hand leading me everywhere. I remember my times with my father as vividly as a great piece of music where you know every word, every note, and every solo taken by every member of the band. You know it until it becomes part of you, until it becomes you.
As my father’s health condition took a turn for the worse, I kept in touch with my dad as often as I could. The last time we were together was during my vacation leave, which was spent on the last week of June. I was glad to see him at home so that my mom, brother and me could share precious time with the man who had been the most important person in our life. Dad however never felt sorry for himself or let life get him down. His Catholic faith was the sustaining force of his entire life.
The loss of my father has been painful, yet also strangely reaffirming because it has made me ever more aware of the rewards of our wonderful relationship. Its one of those feelings where you know you did a lot and you cared, but you feel you could have done more in retrospect. He lived a long and full life. It wasn’t tragic, just so sad for all of us who had to let go. I have lost the physical person, but the feeling — the essential part of him — endured. Perhaps the most consoling words came from a prayer book which we recited during the wake:
“Lord, help us to see death for what it really is, the end of poverty and beginning of riches; the end of frustration and the beginning of fulfillment; the end of fear and the beginning of tranquility; the end of pain and the beginning of joy; the end of weakness and the beginning of strength.”
Upon learning from my mom thru text that my dad was having hard time breathing, I immediately called home. I was already getting weak while dialing our home phone number. It was mom who picked up the phone and when she passed it on to Dad I asked him “How are you?” and said that I’ll see him by last week of August. He did not say any conscious words to me but I heard him drew two deep breath and it was enough for me that somewhere in his heart he felt my love for him and I knew he cared for me.
I heard his breath just hours before his death, a beautiful way of celebrating life’s final moment.I had mislaid my dad in the tangles of my grief, but he had never really left me. I still held his words in my head, his selfless love in my heart. He will live on inside me as long as I draw breath.
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