...And Letting Go

I got the call at 1:30 this morning.   No matter how you prepare, they say, you can’t quite believe it when the news comes.  I am writing this 30 minutes after I received the news, as I can’t sleep anymore.  I had already decided yesterday to have the MRI regardless.  My sister had called earlier to tell me it would be “any day” according to the nurse.  I guess Hospice nurses can tell with pretty fair accuracy.

But I prayed and meditated on it yesterday afternoon; I had a bit of a panic attack after my sister told me what the nurse had said.  I calmed myself down a bit, then had this very brief moment when I felt comfort in my father’s spirit.  He would have wanted me to have the dreaded MRI.  I can feel it.  I haven’t stopped feeling it, but that voice that shames you was telling me to cancel it.  It was the wise voice that set the other one free of the shackles it had me in.

I wanted to be there in person to say goodbye, but I didn’t really need that.  I just needed to feel his spirit in me.  And I did.  He gave me so much, he will be missed like crazy, and hopefully I’ll remember his life lessons for however much longer I must endure the shackles of NF.  I must free myself of those as well.

Goodbye, my dear father.  Rest.  The physical pain is done for you (I pray).  You will always be with me.  You did a good job and I will always love you.  And strange as it may seem, the day of my dad's funeral service is September 2; which would have been my parent's 67th wedding anniversary.  funny, that.