I haven't told but one person about this, but eight days ago, my dad passed away from Alzheimer's disease. I've known this day was coming for about eight years...when I first started realizing there was something going on with his memory. I've had a long time to prepare for this, and mourn. To be honest, I've barely cried, or felt much sorrow over his passing. And part of me feels like I should feel more sad. I've really been processing my feelings, and if it's ok to be ok with death. I think our culture has a fear of death. Other cultures accept it. Mourn, but accept it as a normal process of life. It's the circle closing. I want to be more like that.
My dad was 74 years old. It was his time. His turn. I feel completely different about my dad's death, than I did two years ago, with my 36-year-old brother's death. That felt so premature, and unnecessary. Especially since it was two people who chose to take Andy's life. It didn't feel like it should be his turn. I guess ultimately, God knows the number of our days, and knew Andy would die at 36 years old, at the hands of two criminals. But it still felt so hard to accept. I don't feel that way this time.
I think that's ok.
I know I did everything I could for my dad while he was alive. I have no regrets. I know he's at peace now, and I believe he's in a better place.
The irony about it all is that my brother died when Little Brother was two weeks old. And my dad died when Baby Brother was seven days old. This whole life/death juxtaposition is once again at the forefront of my mind. And it's ok. I'm thankful for life, and celebrating it. And am accepting that lives end, and death is the completion of that cycle. It really is ok.