Taking Flight

Baltimore Summer 2006

My father passed away on Saturday right around dinnertime. I was standing in my kitchen when the phone rang. With caller ID, you now have a number on a screen that triggers the first emotion, before it would have been the sound of a voice, the first  ”Hello” that gives evidence to the caller…the tone of the person’s voice. I tightened and answered the phone.

“He’s gone, Annemarie.” I caught my breath. You can never prepare yourself for this moment. No matter how hard you try. It is not something you visualize like preparing for the start of a swim meet, crouched down on the block, waiting to jump in. It is not something you want to visualize like when you hold excited anticipation about the look on a loved one’s face you are about to surprise with an unexpected visit.

When someone you love is fighting a terminal cancer, you can only hope. You hope that when the time comes for them to take flight it is peaceful. Comfortable. And surrounded with the people they love. Surrounded by the people that love them.

My father was able to do that. He went peacefully with my mom lying right by his side. He was able to be in his own home, in his own bed and with the woman he loved for more than 50 years. We really can’t ask for more than that. For him. And for my mother.

It does not take away the pain of his absence, but there is comfort in that memory of him with my mother.

Spring Break Louisiana 2009

Another surprising comfort has been the innocence and honesty of my children who loved their Pa. We told them on Sunday morning. Olivia, only 5, smiled uncomfortably. I caught her throughout the day searching my face. She is still so young to completely grasp the meaning of death. Isabella, almost 8, reacted instantly with tears. She hugged me tight and sobbed.

Then the flood of questions.

“Did it hurt?” ”No, he was comfortable and just drifted off to sleep.”

“Is Mamou (my mother) going to come and live with us?” “No, but she may come and stay for longer visits.”

“Does he look like a skeleton right now?” “No, he looks just himself.”

“Are you sad, Mom?” “Yes, and it’s completely okay to cry whenever you feel like it.” “I am really okay, I just miss him.”

“We are all going to be okay.”

Later over dinner, the questions about heaven began.

“Do you think Pa is in heaven right now?” “Maybe.”

“What do you think he’s doing?” We all decided that perhaps he was golfing, fishing or reuniting with his brother and parents.

Isabella asked if she would be able to bring her books up to heaven. I answered honestly, “I don’t know.” “But, I like to think that everything you love will be in heaven.” We all decided that Isabella would have chocolate tucked in all of the corners of her cloud in heaven. Olivia would have all of her Bitty babies around her. “Mom, would have all of her cookbooks.”

The tone was light. The conversation was open and honest. I looked around at my family. Proud. Grateful.

Later, Olivia, my thinker, walked up to me as I was at the computer. “Mom, is Pa building a cloud house for us up there now?” I turned my chair around and pulled her into my lap. “I’d like to think so.”

The next day Olivia asked quietly, “Do you think Pa is still on the airplane?”

I paused for a moment. A vivid image of my father came to mind. My father was a fighter pilot. He was the bravest person I knew. He was also a man filled with great integrity and patience. He was tough, yes. But, inside, soft as room temperature butter. And boy, did he have rules. But, those rules almost always ensured efficiency and precision. And never at the expense of something or someone.

Was my dad still on the airplane? Gosh, I’d like to think so.

The image of my Pop piloting in the clouds overtook me. Peaceful and in control of his own flight. Taking his time to enjoy the scenery. Perhaps a little Luciano Pavarotti playing on the radio. My dad’s favorite. Looking down on all who love him. Looking toward those he’s missed. I can see him softly biting his lower lip in concentration.

This morning taking the girls to school I caught sight of plane tracks in the morning sky.

Enjoy your flight Pop.

We love you.

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