Michelle's 1-Month Tribute to Her Dad, August 1, 2009

Dear Friends:

We decided as a family to end blog postings for Craig's blog, but sometimes there are worthwhile exceptions! For those who are wondering, I'm doing well...having a granddaughter on July 16th helped! My emotional experience is much like Craig's daughter Michelle describes below...except that I also have the "practical triggers" of emotion going on while doing thank you notes, reading condolence cards, and handling the myriad of details of completing the affairs of someone's life. Craig's bedroom is now back into being a prayerroom and is far more special for his time spent in it. I'm grateful for the comfort of having his soul nearby. I hope you'll appreciate Michelle's reflections.

Love, Susanne

Reflections on the life and death of my dad

It’s the one month anniversary of my father’s passing and I had the bounty today of reliving the whole story for a dear friend of mine, and decided that it was time to write about my experience for myself and anyone else for whom this will touch.

I will start recounting my journey by saying that I am comforted by my belief/certainty that my dad is not gone – he is just in another spiritual world, but that (as I tell my daughter) he can still see me with “special eyes”. Therefore I still have my father – I will just have him in a spiritual sense until I join him one day in that other world. It is hard to realize that I won’t see him physically, and that will always be painful (especially at significant occasions, or maybe just silly or inconsequential ones..) but I have to say that his death was such a blessing…a blessing to have had the healing time we all needed in our relationships with him and each other, a blessing to have had him as a father, a blessing to have been with him at his deathbed while he moved to the next world, a blessing that he did such an amazing job of dying…

This is not something that we tend to talk about – dying well. But since all of us have to do it at some point or another, we might as well do it well. And my dad did, and his journey to this point was incredible.

As you probably know my dad was diagnosed with cancer a few years ago and journeyed well with it (he refused to call it a fight because that denotes a struggle/war and he was peaceful by nature). He was strong, courageous and radiant through the whole process. He spent MANY hours in prayer and meditation and was content with God’s plan for him. I use the word content when describing him many times and what I mean by it is not happiness (who actually is happy to leave behind one’s loved ones?) but a inner serenity/calmness/peace that God will provide and protect him and his loved ones. When word came from his doctors in February that there was nothing more they could do, he was content and spiritually radiant. Of course he was sad, sad for what he would be missing here: being with his children, seeing his grandchildren grow up, having more wonderful years with his wife, being able to have more years of service to others (something that always gave him great joy). But since the verdict was given he was determined to die well.

Many times people die with things unsaid, unresolved, unfinished. My dad (and all of us) had the opportunity to say what we needed to say, resolve things that were not, and finish every thought, emotion, and story. In the months after my dad’s prognosis was considered terminal, he went through a spiritual transformation – something that he had always yearned for. He had always yearned to feel close to God, to feel in His embrace, to express himself emotionally and spiritually to those around him – yet he always felt like he got in his own way. He had a hard time expressing his feelings and never truly felt the connection to God the way he wanted to (even when on spiritual pilgrimage to the Baha’i Holy sites). In the remaining months (we had about 5 months with him as he was dying) he was finally able to express what he wanted to, he became physically affectionate (the first time in my life that he stroked my back or freely held my hand), much freer in saying “I love you”, “I’m sorry”, and “I’m proud of you”. These last two were for my brother who had been estranged from my father for many years. They were finally able to make amends and truly love (or at least finally express the love they always had) for each other after 15 years of misunderstanding and pain. This healing was so important to them and to all of us – and my dad made sure to make it happen. Each of us in our turn (my sister and I, my mom and others) also spent time clearing up old issues, forgiving him for past things (no parent or spouse is perfect), asking for forgiveness for things we had done, etc… There were many tears but at least we had the chance to do these things while he was still with us. And that forgiveness allowed me to truly let him go when the time came…

Many people become bitter, depressed and sad in their final time here on earth, but he was determined to die with “his eyes wide open”. Spiritually he was so radiant and content in his final months, weeks and days. At a special “going-away” party that we held for him where 300 people attended, he was the one consoling everyone who came to see him. He was content, he was thanking them for all the things they had done for him over the years, he said he would miss them and would pray for them from the next world. I cannot really explain it because it seems so surreal that he would be so calm, in a world where people fear death or can’t bear to think of it. But he knew that he would not be going into oblivion, he would be in the next world, which as Baha’is we believe is as close to us in this world, as we are to a baby who is still in the womb. He would not be able to physically touch or speak to those whom he loved, but he would be near and reunited when they joined him in the next world.

In his final few months he increasingly lost his ability to walk and speak (the effects of the brain tumor) but his eyes still sparkled. He did everything he could to not be a burden on others (though of course he was dependent on us (mostly my step-mom) for care). He would get frustrated, especially when we would try to get him into bed, help him eat, etc.. (things he’s been able to do since was a child!) but he would never take it out on anyone or really get grumpy. His greatest frustration came from not being able to express himself in words anymore (now that he had gained the ability to finally express himself!) but as his speech diminished, the expressiveness in his eyes got stronger. Until finally on his deathbed his eyes were the only way he could communicate.

In his last week he had chosen to stop taking his medication and to stop eating – this is not uncommon for someone who is nearing death as they lose interest in these things – and my step-mom honored his request (which must have taken great courage/detachment on her part!). A few days later it seemed that his hours were numbered and all of us kids assembled (I drove in from Dayton, Ohio, my sister from Washington DC and my brother lived locally). When I came into the room I remembered being struck by two things 1) how still his body was (he was not able to move any of his body anymore) 2) how expressive his baby-blue eyes were. He was clearly with us and was very “present”. He was not agitated, he was not in pain, he was – as always - content. I was very sad when I saw him – it is very tough to see a parent (especially one who is so young) in such a state. I held his hand and cried for a long time.

We (myself, my sister, step-mom and another dear friend) ended up having the bounty of being with him for 2 days and were there at the amazing moment when he passed. It was such a spiritual moment though physical all at the same time. It was as if we could feel his soul moving on, while we were there to hold his hand and cry, and sing him to the next world (his greatest joy was music!). I feel blessed to have been able to “birth” him into the next world. I was originally worried that I would have a hard time of it. I’ve never been near someone who is dying nor had to deal with death much in my life. But being able to serve him in those two days was such a blessing. I sat with him, sang to him, held his hand, prayed with him, laughed with other people who were caring for him, wiped his forehead. And he died with a smile on his face…

I will always miss him and will always keep his memory alive by telling stories about him to my kids. About how he would sing every day, how he played the guitar, flute, dulcimer and recorder. How he was always generous with his time, energy and resources. How he showed his love through his actions and would always do everything he promised to do. How he was watching his grandchildren grow up from the next world and that he loved them and were proud of them. That he was always working towards creating unity between people, creating positive relationships, creating better communities. How, as his headstone says “He lived to serve.”

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In this last month since his passing, I have been doing better emotionally than I expected – in fact, it seems that some of my dad’s contentment has rubbed off on me. Not all the time though: I have times where I am sad, where I cry, when I am upset about what we won’t get to see him at (my daughter’s next birthday, my sister’s wedding). But on the whole, when I think back to those last days and hours with him, I am happy. Sometimes I feel guilty saying that, but if this journey allowed my dad to have the spiritual transformation he always wanted, the healing our family needed for so many years, and the blessing of peacefully helping him into the next world, then why shouldn’t I be happy? Death has to happen to all of us, and his could not have been more amazing or more of a blessing for those he loved. True happiness is spiritual and all of our family (now in two different worlds) have been blessed with what we needed for our spirituality and personal growth. And when it comes down to it, the spiritual life of our souls is what matters in the long run, long after our physical bodies return to the earth.

I know my dad will always be with me and always loving me and my whole family. I miss you Dad...

Michelle (Farnsworth) Tashakor