I still rise each day thinking about my pop.  He was a cool customer. I am glad I had the chance to live with him the past 10 years.  It seems a long time but now it seems to have passed so quickly.  Too quickly.

I remember when we first planned to have mom and pop come.  He had developed a heart problem and was having fainting spells.  His heart was not working well. Loose valves the Doctor said.  My pop and I talked in that Japanese – English hybrid language we use in Steveston.  “Sewah kakitanae,”  I don’t want to be a burden he said.  I said, “Sewa nae.  Madah narannuhn koto ipaei aru.”  Not great Japanese but what I said was, “It’s not a burden.  I still have lots to learn from you.”  “Toshi toru no koto.” How do I grow older wisely? I meant.

He smiled.  I really meant it because I knew he could show me about growing older.  I was not trying to placate him. I wanted to spend more time with him.  In the end we did spend more time together but not enough.  We did some things together but not enough.  The busyness of work and being with my own family seemed to always take up the time. But, he did show me lots – every day.

He enjoyed his activities like playing Gateball with all his friends.  He had a mah jaong group that for a time met monthly at our place.  He started his garden and loved his tree peony plants that would bloom so beautifully each year but only for a short time.  He appreciated the beauty of the plants without the blooms.  He tended them very carefully.  He wanted to help at home and would cut the lawn and take out the garbage.  He was always doing something and he always had a positive attitude.

He and I would go to many appointments and he would follow the doctors’ orders.  Eat less salt.  Exercise.  He would go for daily walks. In the beginning he would walk to Steveston and back to have coffee with friends.  At least 1/2 a mile  each way.  He would take Jasper our cocker with him.  His heart specialist called him a miracle man. He never complained and he always tried to enjoy all our family activities. I watched him closely.  Once in awhile we would sit in my parents’ ensuite  and watch TV or talk about something.  When ever we talked about something that someone did. He never said anything bad about them.  He was more curious about the context or backstory that caused the person to act the way they did.

He had two more episodes that took him to the emergency room and made it back home a little less able each time.  He could not longer walk far and I would drive him in my C30 to the coffee group during my days away from work. We had many conversations then because I would stay with him for coffee. Each year his ability to walk lessened.  It was for me a gauge of his health. In the end he could barely make it to the dinner table.

Even in the hospital he would try to stay positive. He could not breath properly and would have spells where he was struggling for air.  It was hard to watch. Still, one night my mom and I and her sister were sitting at the foot of the hospital bed and suddenly he started singing an old Japanese song and clapping.  I guess he could see the worry in us and was trying to cheer us up.  Ten days before he died he was doing Shigin for a short time – Shigin is a type of Japanese throat singing . Shigin is done on notable occasions.  Births, weddings, funerals.  I think he knew he was too weak to go on much longer. A week before he died I was trying to spoon feed him because he could not swallow properly and he did not have the energy or motivation to eat.  He could not talk by this point. He saw that my hair was standing up. He raised up his hand and patted me on the head.   Later the next day the doctor told us it was not going well and we had to let him go. We let him go into palliative care. He went into that medically induced palliative dream state and 6 days later he died.  His defective heart was stronger than we thought and would not let him go easily.

I still have the tears. I don’t let them fall. I let them crystallize in my eyes.  I see the world a little differently now.

Skypilot… looking for a place to land…

that if a person dies we keep them and cherish them in our hearts. They say that they aren’t really gone if you remember them. They are with you always. Let’s celebrate their lives.

BS.

I walk into my father’s home. He isn’t there. I walk into his bedroom he isn’t there. I sit down to have a meal with him. He isn’t there. I don’t hear his voice. He doesn’t give me advice. He can’t tell me more of his stories. He’s not here anymore. I just feel lonely and sad.

What is real is that I’m sad. Life is lonely. I miss him. That’s what is real. I don’t want rationalizations. Platitudes. He’s dead and I’m sad.

And what’s more, I want to feel sad and lonely. He was important. He mattered. The tears mean something. Living and dying is part of the story. His story. I’ve lost others too that made me feel empty and a deep sadness. It means I have the human capacity to connect and love.  They were important to me. Sadness is part of life.

And I have regrets too. I want to talk with pop one more time. I want one more chance. Another day. I want to take him in my C30 and take him on a road trip or take him to his morning coffee group. One more chance to ask him about life and death and everything in between.

What is hard is trying so hard not to feel the sadness and emptiness and loneliness. I can’t do it. No use avoiding it. I can’t avoid it. I accept it as part of the unfathomable part of my existence. I embrace the sadness and emptiness and accept my father’s death. In the loss and emptiness I can feel his love and my capacity to care and remember the times when I felt loved and comforted.

Rambling on…  probably going to be rambling for awhile…

Skypilot123…………………  Feb. 24th, 2016