I'm Sorry for Your Loss

Sadness. Deep sadness. For me it has a very distinct, and unfortunately, familiar feeling. This past May, I was in Florida for several days, until Memorial Day weekend. I had no idea that on Monday, May 30th, I would speak to my father, on the phone, for the last time.
I came home from Westchester Airport, tired and ready for bed. I was home after several days of being away. The apartment was quiet. No pups.  My parent's had been kind enough to pick up Hermes and Jessie the next day, since I would be at work, unable to retrieve them from the vet.
I laid in my bed, almost 11 pm, on my MacBook, watching some random tv show, then the phone rang. First it was my brother. I ignored it, since I was half asleep and assumed he simply wanted to see if I was home. Then, minutes later, my uncle called. He said my father had fallen. In his voice, I heard more than what he had stated. Something else had happened. I raced to St. Francis hospital in Poughkeepsie, my brother was still on his way, since he lived farther south.
I arrived at the hospital. I entered the main entrance and asked for my father. The security guard called, and I heard the voice on the other end of the phone, primarily inaudible, state where he or my mom, was located. I made out two words: "Grieving room". Those words informed me of everything I had to know.
I went into this "room" to see my mother, uncles and aunts. All were crying. All were hoping against hope. Sadly, my father had passed. The doctor came in, she was very stoic and matter of fact about my dad's passing. Hollywood, television, "Grey's Motherfucking Anatomy", it's all wrong. Completely false. My father's passing was delivered in a stale, unemotional statement. Purposefully, of course. But lacking that bullshit drama that we've all come to expect with the passing of a loved one.
My brother arrived 15 minutes later, and I told him our father had died. I cried in his embrace. Life had done it again, I thought.
I called a local funeral home where my father had worked for many years to make arrangements for his pick-up. They were saddened, as dad had been a mainstay there for almost twenty years.
We had the opportunity to see my father, in the hospital gurney, where he passed. It. Was. Hard. We all reacted differently, my mother joking, that now we were stuck with her, my brother, wanting to stay with him until he was picked up by the funeral home; and me, laying my head on his chest. The same chest I found comfort in for so many years as a child. The same man who's stubble, heartbeat and strength I felt for all of my childhood. It was now motionless and cold.
I'll miss my father. He was a good man. I'm lucky because I can say without any doubt, that my dad's love for me, my brother and mother was without question. Even though he's gone, I'm still lucky, because he was my father.

Father and Son


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