Memoir/Grief/Healing
While Dad Breathed His Last, I Sought His Approval
Daughters carry their dad’s words forever
Disclaimer: Whenever I speak of my dad’s dark side, I remind the world, he was not all bad. If such things can be measured by hurt daughters, I would say, he was filled with more good than bad.
Towering over Dad as he lay dying in the hospital, I noted his smallness. The dad I’d loved — the man I’d feared, at times hated — the human I’d forgiven. Now, weak, helpless, all alone in the small space between life and death.
I remember thinking I should feel victorious, standing tall above his fragile, shrunken, decaying body. His curled fists, powerless, booming voice, muted. Instead of feeling mighty as he gasped for weak wisps of air, I felt helpless.
What surprised me is that even now, I want his approval. I thought I’d worked through all that. Had the prayers and time spent pleading for God to give me the will to forgive, forget, and move on been in vain?
I had a near-panic attack, fretting over the people in the room ignoring him. Part of me wanted to scream, he’s dying, shut up, show some respect! Yet, the other part of me, probably the sane version, knew they were doing their best to deal with death.
