When He’s Gone

He was ill and this time it looked like the end.

His four children – all adults with children of their own rushed to be at his bedside as he welcomed in the last days. He wanted his children to be near him. He wanted them to see what it was like to sleep well.

All four of his children had mixed emotions. They knew the day was coming and were just glad to be on hand on this occasion. Especially seeing as though the last time he had fallen ill, they had no time to react and were concerned they would miss him before he passed away. Yet for all the sense of relief both in terms of knowing this was it and in terms of knowing that he would be taking it well in the end, there was still the reality that they would be missing their father.

He would be gone.

He had been such a strong presence in their lives however far they had been from him. He wasn’t bothering them all the time, but he would make timely interjections in their lives. A phone call, a random visit, a lunchtime catch-up over some sandwiches, a text message, a gift from out of nowhere and most of all his well known warm hugs.

He didn’t always remember the birthdays and he wasn’t particularly bothered by his own birthday. He never sought to be the centre of attention even in his own home, but even that left a mark on his sons and daughters. The grandchildren loved him because he didn’t treat them like idiots or patronise them – and he also spoilt them rotten in sneaky ways. They loved his generosity both in his gifts and more importantly in the time that he gave them.

It would be weird for the whole family to adjust to his departure. They were all concerned for his wife, the longstanding matriarch, who had stuck by him through thick and thin. In the many years together, she had grown so attached to him she still didn’t look like she had acknowledged he would be gone.

Yet he would be gone.

Whilst in the kitchen preparing a supper for them, one of the daughters asked the matriarch why she wasn’t feeling it and preparing it.

“I know he’s going, but he’s not gone yet. I value him while he’s here. We are both agreed that it was never about him at all, but the hope that kept him going now in preparation for what awaits. I treasure his presence with me now, but he always reminds me of the greater presence there to comfort me when he’s gone.”

At this her eyes welled up and she and her daughter silently held each other as the tears flowed.

He would be gone, but never forgotten. What he left behind was the hope that there was a greater presence for consolation and for so much more.

(Photo by Amadeo Muslimović on Unsplash)

For His Name’s Sake

Shalom

C. L. J. Dryden