Endings and Beginnings

On New Year's Day my father lost his long battle with Alzheimer's.  It was a very peaceful passing, and his wife, myself and my sister were by his side.  He will no longer have to suffer the indignities of this cruel disease, or struggle to communicate with only his eyes and hands.  There will be no more hospital stays, no more sudden infections and fevers.  No more sitting day after day in the same spot, unable to move on his own.  I am very grateful for that, for his sake, even though I am deeply saddened at the loss of one of the most important people in my life.

I will miss the hugs that Dad gave freely and frequently.  Even when he could no longer walk or speak, he could still give a hug that was strong, tight, and full of love.  I've always felt that those were the best kind of hugs ever, and can only hope that the hugs I give to others can provide the same wonderful feeling as the ones I received from my father for so many years. I will miss the kisses that he'd pucker up for, and the hand holding that he so loved to do. Affection was the only thing that Dad managed to keep within him, the disease took the rest.

It is very ironic that my father's life ended within the first hours of the new year.  This is the one day of the year that normally brings the hope of new beginnings rather than endings, yet in some way it  makes perfect sense.  The first day of 2014 was the last day I will ever have to worry about my father.  I can now go to sleep at night without the guilt of not being able to visit him more often due to the demands of other aspects of my life. I can now see his wife's phone number show up and not immediately panic that he is sick again.  I won't be worrying after each visit if it was the last time I would see him.

Instead, I can begin to remember the man that he was without seeing the man that he became over the last few years. I can begin to look at photos of him now without sorrow and regret for all that Alzheimer's took from him.  I can start to remember all of the great conversations I'd had with him, instead of trying to have a one-sided one, and ending up feeling miserable because I never knew how much of what I said to him was understood.

In the short two weeks since his death, I've ridden a roller coaster of emotions, yet have somehow ended up with a sense of peace that has taken me by surprise.  Last week was the first time that I celebrated a birthday without my father in my life, and although I thought about him quite a bit that day, it wasn't the sad experience that I had expected it to be. Things were different this year because I knew he had been taken from me completely, instead of in bits and pieces.  I spent most of that day surrounded by very special people before heading off to get an  infinity heart tattoo to represent my love for my father and everyone else whom I hold close to my heart.  I'm not sure whether he would have approved of the ink (actually,  during the entire process I was envisioning the look that he would have given me), but at the very least, I know that he would have been proud of me for not passing out from the pain of the needle and for not hurting the tattoo artist.

I have never forgotten the song that my father and I danced to when I got married, yet I hadn't heard it in a great many years. My practical mind doesn't allow me to believe in the afterlife very much, but in the last two weeks I have twice heard that song played while I was thinking about what I'd most like to begin in 2014. I've always believed that with every ending comes a new beginning, and hearing that song while thinking of new beginnings led me to believe that my thought is on the right track. So, thanks Dad.  I'll take that little sign and I will turn this ending into some wonderful new beginnings, I promise.