The Owl

In midst of one human rights and civil liberties crises after another, you took a leave from your justice work to attend to your father as he lay dying at home. As he floated in a sea of dementia and morphine, we had several phone calls and text exchanges.

One brief snapshot from our phone calls:

You: he’s dying.

Me: yes, he’s dying. 

You: It’s hard for me to step away from work at a time like this. Given all that’s happening across the country, my work load’s felt like I’ve been drinking from a fire hose; feels like I just cut the water off. And being here with him is bringing up childhood trauma. Our relationship was complex, but I don’t want him to suffer. I want him to have a good death.

Me: I hear you. Intense timing, trauma arising. There is so much suffering in the world. And, yet, you are there with dad.

You: I just sit with him and breathe. We breathe together.

Me: Tell me about the feeling you have, sitting, breathing with dad.

You: It feels profound to be here. There is so much silence, and then he wakes for a few minutes to make noise or say a few words.

Me: It is profound to be there. How do you feel hearing his noises and words?

You: He’d been asleep for a long time and opened his eyes. He looked at me and said, “An owl flew into my capsule.” I was blown away. When I asked him about this, he didn’t respond. An owl…it’s amazing!

Me: Oh, wow! An owl flew into his capsule. Amazing.

(silence…)

Her: I’m not sure if he can hear me, but I want to say a prayer or sing something to him. 

Me: They say the hearing is the last sense to go. If you could say or sing something to him, what would it be?

You: I’m going to think about this… 

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We had several phone calls during this time. On one call, we explored her relationship with her mother, and how she felt witnessing her mother’s reaction to her life-long husband’s dying process. She was bewildered by her mother spending quite a long time cleaning out and arranging the contents of her purse, watching television, and talking about material topics at the foot of her father’s bed. She shared that she wanted her mother to be present, focused, and attentive. She also shared her feelings about her relationship with her brother, who struggles with mental illness.  

A follow up text:

You: Hi, dear. My dad just passed away a few minutes ago. My mom and I were with him. He waited for us. He died just 30 mins after we arrived. I was singing a lullaby to him as he passed. It was a good death. Thank you for your love and support. I’m so grateful to have gotten to be here.

Me: May his memory be for a blessing and may you and your family be comforted among the mourners. Love is all around you.