On the night of Monday, September 18, 2017, a beautiful angel was born. He departed our world to return to his true home. He was greeted by his mother, his brother, his father-in-law, his dog, and many others. At the time of his passing, he was surrounded by pure love. For the last few days as his body shut down, the only thing that remained was love. He lost interest in his phone, the television, and food . . . three of his previous favorite things. All that he cared about were messages of love, hand holds, hugs, and kisses. Barely audibly, he constantly repeated “I love you girls” all through the day and all through the night. Love was tangible.
I called this angel “Daddy” for the past twenty years. He always made it clear that he was “Daddy” and to not go by any other name. Likewise, he called me “Sweetheart” until we uttered our last “I love you” on Monday afternoon. After this, he fell asleep, and the dying process officially began. I learned a lot while I watched and listened to his last breaths, an equally peaceful and traumatic series that lasted hours. This, an experience I do not wish upon anyone. Eventually, everything calmed down, and the petrifying noise ceased to exist, signaling the birth of an angel.
As the days have gone by (rather quickly at that) I have dug deep within myself to gather the courage to write this post. Though this possibility was in the back of my mind for a year now, I never embraced it as a probable occurrence. My dad was invincible, and he would not let disease overtake his power. Of this, I was confident. Even in hospice as an “impending doom” settled upon us, my heart still yearned for a miracle. We had been granted one in March, so it could happen again. Even as he fell asleep on Monday, I still believed it was possible. No noise, interruption, or movement could wake him. This did not make sense to me. He was still alive, so why could he not just wake up. Open his eyes, talk to me. Was he already gone?
During this time, I cried. I imagined my future without him, and I cried. I could hear him telling me not to cry, but it was the only thing I could do. Breathing was barely even possible for me at this point, wondering if each noise he made was the last one. My mind was flooded by thoughts that I have put off for this entire year. I am still his baby girl, how could he leave me? One day, when I find a love as pure as my parents, my soulmate would be to ask my daddy for my hand in marriage. This, no longer an option. On the day of my wedding, as I will approach my groom at the altar, my dad will not be on my side, walking with me. The father/daughter dance, he will not be there to sway and rock with me. I have imagined what song we would dance to my entire life. After all of these things, he were to be a granddaddy to my future children. He was supposed to teach them how to ride a bike and take them on mischievous adventures, filled with secrets only they would know. As he fell asleep, I felt these visions violently be ripped away from me.
There are the little life events also that we do not realize mean so much to us. His laundry being cycled out of our chores broke my heart to shreds. His clothes no longer need folding, his outfits not to be chosen. He does not wake me up in the middle of the night to add ice to his water or turn the bathroom light on. He knew these things always woke me up, and to acknowledge that, we always waved. He waved his preciously unique wave. I told him everything, every little, insignificant thing that is now astronomically significant. I told him if I drove over the speed limit. Every night I got home from working a certain shift, I would wake him up to count my tips with me. His series recording are still on our DVR and there they stay, unwatched.
Life has changed, changed dramatically. Invincibility met the inevitable on Monday night when an angel was born. He left the temporary for the eternal as he entered the kingdom of Light. I will adjust and learn to live without my dad around. It will be the hardest thing I will ever have to do, but with this little thing called belief, I can do it.
I am Danielle, and I Believe. . . believe Monday night an angel was born as Heaven rejoiced. My daddy was a human for fifty-seven years, and now an angel for eternity everlasting.