About a week ago, he went into the hospital with a bad infection. We were told he would likely die that night. He didn’t. We were told a second time that he would likely die that night. He didn’t – but we were only doing palliative care from that point forward.
When I got the call from my dad yesterday that he had passed about ten minutes ago, with my uncle in prayer beside him, without much pain, I was calm. “Oh.” Was all I said. After all, I had prepared for this, right? I knew he was going to die soon, that it was a matter of time. And if by some miracle he were to recover, he was old. His remaining time on earth was to be short, as human bodies tend to follow the natural order of all temporal beings – he couldn’t go on forever.
I began to cry, really cry, not even 30 seconds later.
Not for the reason I expected – that no matter how much you prepare, death of a loved one is still difficult – but because something tragic and beautiful clicked into place in that moment.