Coming into Be-ing, Because of My Dad's Passing

I want to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to all of you who wrote with condolences, expressed love, showed support, for your kind and deep words, when my father passed away. You each have touched my heart very deeply.

It has taken me several weeks to get to a place where I am able to write and to do it without the tumultuous pain that was overwhelming me. The pain is still there, and I guess it will take a long time (if ever) to ease completely.

I am so grateful for the support I have received from my good friends, and the support that has been extended to my Mum, Marlene; sister, Hetty; and brother, Christopher. This has been absolutely devastating to us all, and we are each grieving in our own way.

On Tuesday (August 24th 2010), it will mark 30 days since Dad's passing (4 weeks ago today), and as tradition goes, it is the day when we are supposed to officially "stop" the mourning process. But how does one turn that off? How does one suddenly go from such intense grief to living again? How do we go on?

But we do. We each do. And, while the process is not an easy one, we manage, we adjust and we just do.  As one dear friend so aptly put it: “you sort of adapt your life around the grief.... it's a bit weird to explain, you get on with it, but you don't really get over it because no one will ever fill that void.”

I had been living away from home for the past 7 1/2 years, and only had one chance to spend 5 momentary months with my Dad in all that time. So the reality of his not being there (in the physical) is hitting me very hard.

I had not spoken to him for two weeks prior to his death (we had tried to make a concerted effort to speak regularly, so I could “cheer him up” and “make him laugh” in the weeks prior after he had come home from the hospital), and that weekend, I felt a strong prompting to call. But truth be known, I'd had a disagreement with my mother two weeks prior, and just did not want to have to "deal with her" at that time. So I put it off. I had planned to put those harsh feelings aside and call them that night to speak with Dad, but it was too late; he died before I got that chance.

This experience has taught me so many things. For one, no matter how we don't see eye-to-eye, pick up the phone and just continue on. After all, are petty disagreements really that important in the grand scheme of life?

Tell those you love, that you love them, each and every day, no matter what. Hug them, kiss them, love them (if you are close enough to do so); if not, drop them an email, or pick up the phone and call, just because.

Treasure each and every opportunity that you are together with those you love. Record your most loving, and favourite moments in a journal to look back on and laugh, reminisce, enjoy.

Another dear friend wrote me a lovely letter of comfort, and shared with me a poem that had been shared with her 20 years prior, when her mother passed away;

Don’t Cry for me

Don't cry for me now I have died, for I'm still here I'm by your side,
My body's gone but my soul's is here, please don't shed another tear,
I am still here I'm all around, only my body lies in the ground.
I am the snowflake that kisses your nose,
I am the frost, that nips your toes.
I am the sun, bringing you light,
I am the star, shining so bright.
I am the rain, refreshing the earth,
I am the laughter, I am the mirth.
I am the bird, up in the sky,
I am the cloud, that's drifting by.
I am the thoughts, inside your head,
While I'm still there, I can't be dead.

Yesterday, I was reading in the Bhagavad-Gita something that goes in line with that lovely poem;

"For the soul there is neither birth nor death at any time.
He has not come into being, does not come into being,
and will not come into being. He is unborn, eternal,
ever-existing and primeval. He is not slain when the body is slain."

For us, we see each other as being that "person", but in truth, we are nothing more than the shells that transport our souls. I have always known this, but I SAW it the moment I saw the photos of my Dad, laying in such peace in his coffin.

Once I got past the intensity of the pain of seeing him like that, I realised that I did not fully recognize him. He was not the man I knew. This "body" was nothing more than the shell of the father that I loved, and will continue to love, forever.

It was in that moment, through the pain of loss that I "got it", 100%; saw that the body was not my Dad, it was just the vessel by which I knew my Dad in this physical realm.

As the days and weeks have progressed, and my burden of sorrow is slowly easing, I am finding a deep comfort in that knowledge.

While I miss my Dad's presence, his voice, his laughter, his jokes; his Be-ing is even more present that it ever was before. Now I can experience him constantly, whereas before, it was only when I saw him, or spoke with him on the phone.

Again to quote the Bhagavad-Gita;

"This individual soul is unbreakable and insoluble,
and can be neither burned nor dried.
He is everlasting, present everywhere, unchangeable,
immovable and eternally the same."

Today, as I thought back over the past four weeks, I did not sorrow. For the first time in so many days, tears have not fallen from my eyes. Instead, I feel intense pride at being my father’s daughter. I look back over the past 37 years, and I see the lessons I have learned; directly, and through the experiences that he went through. And I am who I am today, because of the person my Dad shaped me to be. So, as I felt this peace and this comfort wash over me, and could sense Dad around me strongly; I penned this poem in honour of my Dad…

Because of you, I am.

I am an indelible woman, because of your example.
I know how to love, because you loved me.
I have deep-seated kindness, I learned from you.
I know love, because you showed me.
I am proud of me, because you were.
I am generous, because you taught me.
I stand tall, because you raised me up.
I reach for the stars, because you lifted me.

For all that I am, I am because you taught me,
You raised me,
You loved me.
You left your mark, your legacy,
And now I carry on,
Because of you.


I wish to express my thanks to you for the thoughts you have sent to me via email and Facebook postings; your words which touched me deeply, your support, your love, and your prayers have left a strong mark on my soul. I am so filled with gratitude for your friendship and love; I send you loving embraces and heart-filled appreciation, gratitude, and love.

Namasté

Dancing With Daddy

Ibrahim "Abe" Suleyman Hur

April 2nd 1922 - July 25th 2010

My beloved Dad passed away suddenly on July 25th 2010.

The past three (almost four) weeks since Dad's death has hit me in a way I could never imagine possible.

This is a poem I wrote this afternoon. It expresses my pain in the best way I know how right now.

Dancing With Daddy

My heart feels like
It’s ready to burst.
I wish it would already;
Joining the millions of
Stars that reside in the night sky.

When will this pain end?
Where can I run to escape,
This.
Reality, is a bitch
And I stand here with empty arms.

I long to hug you, hold you, hear you;
But you now reside on my mantle.
No, it’s not you; the real “you”
Is gone, gone far away and untouchable,
Unreachable.

Lost, I feel so completely lost.
My compass is continually pointing north
And that’s where I want to go,
Up, out, away;
To you.

Daddy, you left my sight;
My ears no longer ring with your voice.
Gone too far, but still right here;
But I can’t hug you, hold you, hear you.
I miss you, I love you.

Come and take me in your arms,
Let us dance among the clouds;
Laughing, joking; Be-ing.
I await our waltz,
Daddy and daughter, forever.

Saying "Farewell" to a Furry Family Member

Today our male cat, Ash attacked me... again.

The first time he attacked me, landing me in the hospital under-going emergency surgery and then follow-up surgery the next day; was on Labour Day Monday. Fast-forward three months and we're a day before Christmas Eve (as someone eloquently told me, "Today is Christmas Adam"), and he attacks me again.

Yesterday was our 7th wedding anniversary, and we ended up going to bed really late because we were watching "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince" (our anniversary gift to ourselves); so I had a bit of a lay-in this morning. I get up and am just making the bed when I slipped and fell, face forward into the bed.

I instantaneously got this searing pain in my lower back, and with my face buried in the mattress, yelled in pain. Wherever Ash was located in the house, he immediately came rushing into the bedroom, onto the bed and began attacking my head, ear, arm, and hand.

The adrenalin pumped through me and I got up fast and stood over him who was still really angry. Ben came running and started to yell, immediately I could sense the chaos that Ash was feeling and told Ben to "calm down". I spoke to Ash very calmly and started to soothe him down. When I felt he was calm enough to start moving, I started to call him and "walked" him to the bathroom and then closed the door.

He was very obviously upset and very distraught. What was going through his mind, I have no idea.

At this point, I guess the adrenalin was still flowing when I began to think how well I reacted to him and did not even panic. I had totally calmed myself down which is probably why he was able to stop attacking and calm down as fast as he did and not cause more damage.

I thought that sweat was suddenly pouring down my head, face, and neck; but thought it strange that it was localized to the left side only.

I made it to the middle of the living room and my husband telling me we had to get over to the Emergency Room (ER), when whatever adrenaline was coursing through me decided to just leave. Immediately I began shaking and crying and the only thought was to "get out of here". I walked right out into our courtyard; and really thank God for amazing neighbours, who are forever a part of our family.

They were there immediately and holding me up as I was on the verge of collapsing. They took me to one of their homes and began to clean all the blood which was streaming down my face and neck (what I had originally thought was sweat).

The decision to end Ash's life came swiftly for me today. Not because I was angry or upset with him, but because I knew that he was suffering in some way that he would react like that.


We have had Ash for three years (which would have been Dec 28th), and he really was a loving and adorable cat. He immediately cemented his way into our family when we found him that December evening at the Mesa Arizona Temple.

It is a tradition of ours to visit the Temple Lights every year on Dec 28th (not that we don't go prior to that date) as it is the anniversary of my baptism into Mormonism in 1991. On this particular year, my parents were visiting and my husband had dropped a crate on my toe (cracking the bone), and I had hobbled my way over to the Visitor's Center, and was sitting on some steps when this cat came running over and jumping into my arms. He came for a snuggle, and a few photos were snapped, and then he ran off. I observed him going into a trash can and then realised that he was a stray. I asked some missionaries if they had seen the cat and if it belonged to the temple; but they told me that he had "appeared" several days before and no one knew from where. We said that if we saw him again before we left, it was meant to be that we take him home.

Without "seeking" for him, as we were leaving, we spotted him again and with a little calling, he came running over to me and jumped into my arms. That was it, we were taking him home with us.

After he attacked me in September, we felt impressed to "give him another chance", and we did. He had a few times been provoked by our other cat to a state of being angry, but in time I was able to move past panic and get him calmed down enough to get him to the bathroom where he would calm down and we'd move on. But today, he was unprovoked and just snapped. There was nothing that could even be considered that he was provoked, he just attacked.

Maybe he has been trying to tell me that he wanted to go Home, but in my own selfishness, I did not want to let him go. I had a strong feeling that to put him down for his freaking out in September was letting him down, and I could not do that. But today, the decision was easy to make. My husband and I desire to have children, and there is no way I could trust him to not have a freak out and potentially harm a child, nor under-go the torment that these "freak-outs" would do to him.

Our dear neighbour undertook the difficult job of taking him down to the animal control shelter and she stayed with him the entire time. She told me that it was very calm and very peaceful, the doctor and assistants were all female and they were very loving and gentle with him. She said that he went very fast and just went to sleep.

While the whole ordeal has broken my heart, I also know that I was doing the best thing for him. He was a cat who loved me to such a deep extent; like a dog, I could call him and he would come running. He always wanted to sit on me and come for snuggies. He loved his Dad also and loved on him too, but he really was a "Mama's boy". So the pain and anguish that he must have felt at attacking me, not once, but twice... I can't even think.

Saying farewell to our furry family members is just as hard as saying farewell to a human family member. For those of us who love our pets as they are children, this is a horrendous thing to go through.

Going through Christmas without him is also hard, and then as we walk through the Christmas lights at the Mesa Temple on Dec 28th, well a part of me will be on the lookout for him.

Cognitively I know he is in a better place. I know that he is Home and free and enjoying all the beauty that our Father has created. I also know, and take comfort in this knowledge, that one day, we will be reunited and that we will be able to be together, without anguish or fear, for eternity.

This was a swift decision, and the pain from that decision is difficult; and while my tears are still flowing, I know that it was the right decision and that gives me peace and comfort.

So I say, one last time, the words which I would tell him each night when we went to bed:

"Good night dearest little boy.
We love you Ash, and know that you are safe...
See you in the morning."