A Meaningful Death
tw - this is the first assignment i have written for my contemplative end of life care (CEOLC) course. i talk about the day my father passed in detail.
thank you for reading.
The passing that has had the most significant impact on me and my life, so far, is the loss of my dad. It was a sudden loss after 18 months of caregiving for him after he suffered a major stroke.
For context, I am my parents' next door neighbour.
I was at work, though it was a Wednesday and we were closed, I was there to do some preparations for the weekend ahead as I was to be going on a camping trip with some of my closest friends for the summer solstice and to celebrate one friend's upcoming marriage. Many things felt aligned that day, I was in a great mood and working alone, excited for the upcoming time off. Then, I saw a missed call from my mom. We speak on the phone often so I didn’t think too much of it, but when I called her back everything shattered.
She answered quickly and said, “I think dad’s dead” – my heart sank into my stomach.
“I’m on my way.” I left - I left my work station in disarray and I left. One chef was working in the kitchen, as I was racing off I said to him, “My dad died, I have to go.“ I remember just trying to breathe. I was shaking, yet my whole body was numb. I got in my car and just drove. There are three stoplights on my way home, and I was met with three red lights. I said to myself, “Well nothing you can do anyways, just breathe.“
When I got home, I pulled into the driveway but parked on the grass. I jumped out of my car and ran to my parents house. The paramedics were ‘working’ on him – in that moment I wished so badly we had a DNR. I found my mom in the family room, she was panicked, rightfully so; she had just spent 10 minutes giving her husband of 36 years mouth to mouth before the paramedics took over. I held her and said “It’s okay. He’s giving us our lives back.“
I walked into the room where the paramedics were doing what they do, I remember crying and saying to one of the paramedics, “That’s my dad.“ I cried in her arms. I felt shell shocked, but I knew we needed our community. I used my moms phone and I called her friends Colleen and Laurie. They arrived at our family home within what felt like minutes, but time was moving in a way I didn’t know it could. The paramedics announced him deceased, my mom called the coroner and the funeral home. Because it was a sudden, unexpected death, the RCMP had to come do an investigation. I remember while one of the officers was interviewing me, he said, “You deal with trauma through humour.“ I felt seen.
That afternoon was such a blur but I do remember that I was the one who called everyone to tell them the news; I called his brother (my uncle), I called his son (my brother). I called everyone who knew him and who loved him, thankfully my uncle took on contacting his father (my grandfather). Looking back, I see that I was forced into survival mode right out of the gate and that I took on the burden of messenger. I immediately felt shoved into a role where ‘feeling’ wasn’t an option; I became the parentified daughter. I did take a moment to wrap myself in one of his flannels, I wore his cowboy hat, I laid in the grass, and cried. It was in that moment I felt
the warm sun on my face and body, and I realized that dad had become eternal sunshine. The funeral home came and took him away, as they closed the hearse, a hawk flew overhead and let out its call. It felt symbolic. I cried in the grass for a while as the sun started to lower, and then I went inside to put on his favourite records. When my friend Mackenzie arrived, I was slowly spinning around the living room in dads flannel and cowboy hat to Pink Floyd. I finally felt held.
The days to follow were spent in the sun as I went on that camping trip. He would have wanted me to. I saw him everywhere; particularly in the sparkle of the sun on the water. I drove up to the park and listened to his CD’s the whole way. Singing his favourite songs as the sun shone in on me, it felt like he was there. Eternal sunshine.
Coming home I found that my mom had booked the service for merely two weeks later. It felt too soon, but I didn’t feel like I had any say. She took on the paperwork and bureaucracy as stoic as ever. We continued with all of the steps you seem to have to follow when having a service. I remember being absolutely baffled at the price of cremation, and the fact that a box is required. And that the cheapest option is a cardboard box. And it’s still $250. Insanity. They did not laugh when I said, “Can we bring our own?” Dad loved ordering from Amazon so I could have easily Frankenstiend some boxes together to fit his 5’9” self, he would have done the same.
My brother and sister-in-law finally flew in and I was able to release a bit of my responsibility on to him. We had hundreds of people join us at the service; folks from dad’s past who I haven’t met but merely heard tales of, distant family members who we only seem to see at weddings or funerals, and many, many wonderful friends. It was a service full of love and community care, many laughs. His son (my brother) wrote a wonderful eulogy that had the whole room moving from laughter to tears and then back to laughter again. Dad would have loved it.
In the months to come I found myself saying ‘yes’ to everything. ‘Yes’ to going out in the city on a random Wednesday, ‘yes’ to going to Seattle to see concerts with friends (twice!); I was saying ‘yes’ to any invitation I received. In the fall I went on a work trip to Italy and then had the pleasure of surprising my brother and sister-in-law in Scotland, our ancestral land. We had a wonderful few days all together, we took dads ashes on a pub crawl to some of Scotland's oldest pubs, and then released his ashes on Arther’s Seat; a 250 meter high hill that offers a 360 degree view of Edinburgh. A perfect spot for his soul to rest.
This trip taught me that leaving the family property might be the best way for me to navigate my grief. I ended up quitting my job and booking a one-way ticket to Latin America. I backpacked through Argentina, Brazil, and Peru for two and a half months. I came home for a month and then quickly packed my bags to go to Europe for two months with some of my best friends.
While some may look at this as traits of escapism, I believe that removing myself from the physical property allowed me to fully feel and move through my grief. I journalled, I cried, I laughed, I dreamed, I spent so, so much time in nature. I spent time with supportive and understanding friends in parts of the world that were new to us all. I feel like I was able to meet myself, this new version of me, who only could possibly exist after my father left this plane.
It was my trip in Peru where it clicked for me to start to look in to the possibility of beginning my death doula journey. It feels very aligned, I feel very proud of myself for how I have learned to navigate my grief and how I gifted myself the space to find a path to help others with theirs.
With all of that said and my assignment submitted, I feel as though I need to share a little deeper. His last day was beautiful; it was the edge of the summer solstice. He went out with his brothers to take their shared boat to get repaired; when he got home, he took himself for a walk in the sun through our woodland area, and then, when he returned, he had a nap. He passed gently in his sleep. He was tired, his heart was tired. He passed in the home he built, with his wife of 37 years. There is a knowing in me that he sees how much we love him, and now he's free. He felt like a burden to mom and I; prior to the stroke he was so independent. This shell of himself was not how he wanted to carry on. I love him, I’m so lucky he is my dad, and I miss him so much.
How courageous you are to share such an intimate and personal story. I’m writing this to you now with tears in my eyes as I process your loss and grief at losing what was so obviously a beautiful soul. I love how you describe your father as transitioning to eternal sunshine. That is where heaven is after. A place of no more suffering, illness or pain. Where righteousness is rewarded by that eternal sunshine. A place full of warmth in the presence of the loving creator of all things. I imagine you inherited your father’s humor and wit; father to daughter, mother to son. You piece hopefully is a reminder to all of us that we are not guaranteed today let alone tomorrow. You gave us much to think about and I thank you.