He had a beautiful life… and a beautiful death.
I guess you could argue that there is no such thing. But I know in my heart that he had all of these things.
The journey of dads death was not beautiful. It was not “he died in peace”. He didn’t.
He died in pain. He had his dignity stripped from him by this soul destroying cancer.
He had to endure months of treatments that he had always said he would never partake in if he was ever diagnosed with the BIG C.
But like everything in life, you don’t know what you will do in a situation until you are faced with the grim reality of it.
So it was only last week, I was sitting on the beach speaking with a close friend about death.
We were overlooking the ocean, the same ocean mum and I had scattered dads ashes just over 3 years ago. (That in itself was a slight comedic event… not unlike a scene from The Big Lebowski, which is just universal genius since it was dad’s favourite movie).
So anyhow I was only speaking about death this recently, and thinking about how very single day the waves of emotions that flood you are so different from the previous day or week.
The grief never goes, the sadness never subsides.
Time does heal. But does it?
Or do you forget small snippets of a life you once loved. Of that person you couldn’t live without.
Because you have to live without that person to move forward. So life changes, everything shifts and you become less taken with the memory.
That is what we do to heal.
But then you find yourself thinking about the fact that you don’t remember the person enough and you can become riddled with guilt… creating another feeling of grief. You grieve the constant thought of them.
It is never ending. How can time heal?
Time doesn’t heal your wounds.
You heal your wounds.
You see… you have to think about the life they had. Not the life they no longer have.
All the amazing things they did.
Dad loved his life. He was a musician for most of his life. Playing the drums on and off stage gave him so much pleasure. He loved music. The louder the better.
He loved to drink. He loved to smoke. He was a true child of the 60’s.
He lived big and loud to those who he loved and knew him well.
We was hilarious. Strange, but funny as fuck.
He loved mum and I with every cell in his body.
We were all he ever wanted and all he cared about.
He had a beautiful life.
In death… The year and a bit after diagnosis to final curtains… That was not beautiful.
That was anything but beautiful.
That was ugly.
But… Dad was beautiful.
Dad was nothing but love.
I said before that he had a beautiful life and a beautiful death.
I lay with him in his bed as he took his last breaths.
I held his hand.
So much was said.
Just between daddy and I.
He wasn’t alone.
He had lived a beautiful life… full of love.
And he had his baby with him right until the end…
Miss you so much dad. xxx