Saturday, January 30, 2010
About three and a half hours after that last post, my father went on his way peacefully and--for the first time in weeks--without pain.
For the last three days, my sister and I have been calling people, making arrangements, and helping coordinate the influx of friends and relatives coming in. It is a tremendous gift to see how many people my dad touched over the years, and how many of them have their own stories to tell about the master story-teller. Had he lived in Shakespearean England, Dad would have been a Bard--traveling from town to town acting out the bawdy parts with grand gestures, silly voices, and waggling eyebrows.
His coping tool for difficult situations was humor, and he often held it up like a lantern against the darkness that pops up in life. He was always able to wring something funny out of tragedy or stress, many times turning the mood instantaneously.
He's my inspiration, and I admit to nearly always seeing an absurd twist in any serious situation thanks to him.
I know horses understand grief in some fashion, though probably not in any empathetical way with humans. It will still be good to see them today and get a good dose of warm, fuzzy, horse therapy.