My father passed away a few days ago due to complications from multiple myeloma.
He was diagnosed just a year ago, and now he’s gone. For the past several days, I’ve been by his side, helping to ease his pain. On Saturday, after the doctors broke the news that there was nothing more to be done, we brought him home.
Even in the midst of tragedy, Dad kept his sense of humor. He said he wanted to finally get that tattoo he’d always wanted but been too chicken. He told me other things too. That he was proud of me. That I had to take care of Mom. That he wasn’t scared.
It is quite a thing to watch your father quickly decline, to witness an outpouring of love and admiration from others that he touched, to align your heart with others and wrap that communal love around him as if to protect him and usher him on to the next life.
I had my arms around him as he took his last breath. Mom held one side while I held the other and my brother pressed his hand to Dad’s chest. He was surrounded by love. Moments after he passed, the pain on his face was gone. Every wrinkle was erased. He looked as handsome in death as he had in life.
Dad taught me many things. Most importantly, he showed me that I was important. He gave me a sense of purpose that what I do in this world matters. He taught me that life may be short, but we can live well. He taught me to seize every moment, to care deeply for others, to cry openly, to love wholeheartedly, to laugh, to dance, to ski.
I will miss him.