136/135: Mourning Dad

 Appendix

John W. Jacob (Jack)
October 13, 1939 - October 19, 2022

A week ago almost exactly, my dad passed away. I was with him when he took his last breath. That was a true gift for me and I will forever be grateful for that moment. Dad lived a very full life but as many of you may know his last 10+ years were spent battling Alzheimer's. His quality of life at the end was not what anyone would have wanted and I am relieved he is no longer living in that cage. He has been dying for a long time really. In truth, I have been mourning him for a long time. The dad I knew has not been present for a long time really. The finality though. That is much harder than I realized it would be. 

A week ago at this moment, Dad's breathing changed. I could tell that he had taken a turn. I had just put away the chair/bed and gotten dressed and ready for the day in his room at hospice. I reached out to my family and to the nurse. I was with him and realized that this was it.  I stopped trying to reach my family and put down my phone. I spoke to him and let him know that we were all going to be okay and he could finally be at peace. He had done an amazing job and I thanked him for absolutely everything. I don't know if he heard me. I don't know if he was even there at that point. But I hope he knew that a loving presence was there with him on behalf of everyone who loved him and that he did not die alone. A week ago at this exact time, my dad passed away. On my daughter's birthday. 

We had been to a wedding that weekend in Vermont. It was a celebration and it was amazing to spend time with family in a stunning setting. To see the fall colors, to witness the beginning of a new family and to simply just be together. I met some amazing people. I danced like nobody was watching. I reconnected and laughed like I hadn't in a long time. What a high! 

On Sunday, we were eating at the bar at Pizzeria Regina in Boston. A favorite. Pizza and beer. Patriots on TV. Grateful for the time before our plane took us back to Charlotte. Then, my brother called. We flew to DC instead. And the unexpected though expected occurred. 

But you know what? Different circumstances. Different family. Different reasons. Same reconnecting. We experienced something together. Same laughter at times. Same celebration of a cherished person. 

My brother gave a really beautiful eulogy. It captured the essence of Dad in a way I didn't think was possible. I have never been more proud of my brother than in that very moment. As a natural leader with an incredible presence, he gave our family the biggest gift by standing up there and expressing in that beautiful chapel what Dad gave to this world and to the people he loved. John had asked family and close friends to provide their thoughts about Dad and the common themes that came through during those descriptions were remarkable really. Touching to say the least. 

John's memoir also made me realize something. Even when Dad wasn't really speaking or speaking very little. Even when aspects of his personality changed with the advancing of his disease. Even when he no longer walked on his own. Even when he didn't know who we were. He was still Dad. He still said he loved us. He still shook our hand firmly. He still said he was happy. He still hung on and remained strong. Till the very end. The essence of Dad never left, even when so much of him had been stripped away. 

So, we celebrated. We honored. We reminisced. We were simply together. We saw people from all aspects of my dad's life in one place with the common thread of loving him. It was overwhelmingly moving and beautiful. To see friends and family I had not seen in years. To see my first grade, third grade, sixth grade, high school physics teachers and my field hockey coach.  To see people who drove from long distances to be there if only for an hour or two. All for Dad. Words won't ever express what that meant. He would have absolutely loved that most of all. Seeing everyone together. And to everyone who has reached out or responded (and still are), that means so much. It allows me to see how Dad affected those around him and it helped me remember the Dad that was before Alzheimer's and that was perhaps the greatest gift of all. 

Dad was simply a great man. He lived an intentional life. He chose a career where he could be part of a real community. He cherished his family and his wife more than anything. His lessons were countless. He was kind and loving. He was generous in every way and he made the world better by simply being in it. I will miss him more than I can express. I love you, Dad. You did an amazing job and now you can rest in peace. 

As I said in my last post, go out there and feel today. Feel it all. The highs and the lows. Allow the tears but don't forget to laugh along the way, and laugh hard. A real belly laugh. Hold onto something hard when you need to feel grounded and take a minute to look at our beautiful sky. Dance alone. Dance with other people. Really feel the music. Find art in the every day. Make a beautiful and colorful meal (click here for meal index). Be spontaneous. Figure out something you can do to make the world better, brighter, kinder and realize that we all play a part. Find compassion for yourself and others. Find empathy for yourself and others. Create a safe space for someone to be themselves while creating a safe space for you to be yourself. Be inclusive and collaborative. Celebrate differences and seek similarities. We are here together as ourselves once and we need to make it count. Connect to yourself so that you can connect more deeply with others. Just be. 

Choose kindness. Every gesture counts. Peace and love always.

Amy