Friday, July 27, 2018
My father died a year ago this morning. My sister checked on him about 6:30 that morning, he was sleeping, she nodded off, I checked on him just before 7:00 AM and he was gone. Peaceful, quiet in his living room, as he wished. He was sick, he had endured a couple of difficult years with few complaints or demands.
I miss him, but he knew it was his time to go, and we honored his wishes to go peacefully at home, not fighting for an extra month, or week, or day or hour. I strongly believe that we did the right thing. (One of my brothers is not so sure.)
Over the past year, I have developed a better understanding of our relationship, it was good. We respected one another, we wished one another happiness in our own unique way. There are always woulda, coulda, shouldas in life, but overall he was a good father, who treated his kids well.
Reading other blogs, I know I was lucky. He didn't believe in silver spoons, or giving his kids everything. He was kind, and gentle; the couple of times he said something negative, stand out, because it only happened a time or two. I learned from him to look for the adventure in life, to apply myself and do my best.
I have peace and closure on his passing.