Sorrow

Sorrow has crept into my soul, unbidden and certainly not asked.  In days gone by I would run around being busy so that I wouldn’t have to think; to take the time to sit still and be alone with sorrow.

Three years ago today I got the call no one wants to get.  My father had passed away. It was 4 o’clock in the morning and in just over 4 hours I was at the hospital in Ottawa, some 500 miles from where I live.  I wanted to see my daddy.  They couldn’t find him.  Now I can laughingly say, “They lost my father.” But then, it only added to the darkness of my soul.

I was numb and without words and stood at the nursing station.  Within ear shot, I didn’t hear anything she said.  I was lost in thought, drifting through memories, trying to find the last time I saw my father, remembering the last words we had shared.  I don’t know how long I stood there before feeling a gentle touch on my shoulder.  A young woman spoke and asked me to go with her.  She brought me to a tiny, private waiting room where she proceeded to tell me that they’d lost my father and asked me to wait there, offering to send someone to sit with me.  I wanted to be alone, much as I want to be alone now.  Eventually they found him, but I wasn’t allowed to see him, for he’d been “removed” to the morgue.

I got up and left the hospital reaching for my cell phone to call my brother and let him know I’d arrived.  He was at work and offered to come and meet me at my father’s condo.  I told him there was no need and I journeyed to my father’s place.  Opening the door I was greeted by Dad’s friend, Cassie.  She remembered me from previous visits and wrapped herself around my legs.  I needed that touch; that connection that linked me to my father’s love. Cassie was Dad’s adopted cat.  I cried as I reached down to pick her up and embrace her warmth.

It’s cold out today here in Toronto.  It’s Sunday and it’s the 3 year anniversary of my father’s passing.  The raindrops cover the windows and the teardrops are welling up in my heart threatening a great outpouring.  Sundays were my special days with Dad.  Every Sunday evening I’d spend an hour or so speaking on the phone with him catching up.  This time of the year he would be asking me what was in this week’s pot of homemade soup.  I haven’t made it since.  Thought about it a few times, but seem to have no interest.  Makes me think of that book series, “Chicken Soup for the Soul.”

My father, my mother and my oldest brother; all no longer with me, with us – there’s a void that right now is filled with sorrow.

I’m now looking into this great sadness I feel, and in a way am grateful to feel such depth:  be it sorrow or joy.  I am reminiscing of times spent with mom, dad and my brother Al.  I am wishing I had the last 5 years that my parents and brother were alive, to do it better; to tell them more often how much I love them.

I am sorrowful, and as the stormy weather outside will pass, so too will this great heaviness on my heart.

I’ve lost my dad.  I’d paid for an “eternal” subscription on a memorial site and when I lost the hard drive on my computer, I lost the web URL.  I know it’s a silly thing, but I wanted to write him and mom and even brother Al a note at such a time as this.

At least saying those words again, “I’ve lost my Dad,” have brought a smile to my heart, although my eyes still well up with tears.

Perhaps they can read my heart, share my pain….and somehow let me know that all is well, everything is as it should be and they are well and loved and loving.  Perhaps I can feel their embrace, though I cannot see it like I cannot see the wind; just a whisper, a wisp of wind; a touch of the skin, a release from within.

I miss you mom, dad and Al; it hurts but I know it will be okay and I know it is good that I cry.