The Hardest Goodbye

     When we lose someone to death, we believe we know where they go.  We hope we know where they go.  It's unspoken; a community of people with their own beliefs, but ultimately, we know that we will never see this person again in our lifetimes.  Aside from an Afterlife (for those who believe in one), in this life, they are wiped away, left only as memories.  Now imagine trying to explain this to a little one, when sometimes you're not even sure of what you believe, or as you yourself are trying to come to grips with it.

Miss G and her Pop-pop.

     My dad died.  Wow....it still seems unreal to type or say.  Although we knew it was coming, (I mean, no one gets better from ALS, and believe me, a small part of me hoped), it still did not make it any easier knowing I would never speak to him or hug him again.  His smile is no longer present, but is now seen in pictures and in my mind.  There are moments when I am at peace with this because I know he is at peace now, but there is also another side of me that is so lost that it scares me.  On top of this, we had to explain it to our daughter, being that she is 5 and would notice Pop-pop not being around.  Li'l B is 3, so we knew he wouldn't understand.  I had tried so hard to shield her from death and would make up super nice stories of people "going to the Ball" and dancing, but she was 3 then and it was just magical to her, and no other explanation was needed.  I knew my dad passing would be different.  Plus she saw me constantly crying or wiping at my eyes, so she knew something wasn't right.

Li'l B and his Pop-pop.

     My husband did the honors, because frankly, I just couldn't without breaking down.  He sat Miss G and Li'l B on his lap and told them how Pop-pop went to this place called Heaven, where he can walk, run, bike, and swim like he used to.  Miss G squealed with delight.  It was heartbreaking.  Then my husband looked at her and said, "But where he is, he can never come back.  He can watch over us, but we cannot see him anymore, but he is all better there, but sadly he has to stay there."  She smiled and said, "Okay, daddy," and Li'l B asked to play with his ball.  Go figure.  I told her as I patted my chest, "He is in here now and we can take him wherever we go.  He is a part of us always."  She smiled and went back to playing.  So, I guess this story was magical to her as well, but from time to time, either as we are traveling in the car or playing Uno, she'll look at me and say, "Mommy, I'm really sad that I can't see Pop-pop anymore, but I'm happy that he isn't in his wheelchair."  I can only choke out that she's sweet and that her Pop-pop loved her very much.

     At night, I do a 'Dream Bubble' for both of the kids, as they believe it protects them from bad dreams.  I have started asking them what a great dream may be to have, basically to get their minds off of anything scary.  The other night I said to Miss G, "Let's think of some nice dreams we could have tonight.  What would you dream about?"  She thought for a moment and then smiled at me.  "I want to dream about Pop-pop," she said.  "He'll walk up and open his arms and I will run and jump up and he will hug me." 
               "That sounds like the most wonderful dream," I smiled at her, my eyes burning, "I hope to have that dream tonight too." 

     Like others who have lost someone, I will never go a day without thinking of and missing my dad.  I will always speak about him to the kids and show them many pictures.  I will share stories from long ago and those that they may remember.  We will keep his fight going and will never give up.  We may have had to say our hardest goodbye, but that does not mean that he does not live on in each of us.  Although he is no longer physically with us, it does not mean he will ever fade away.  His zest and spirit are just too strong for that.