He wears the ever-growing signs of physical deterioration around his being like an albatross whose neck has already been wrung. Twisted. Warped. And drooling uncontrollably.
He appears to watch passively from the sidelines as his independence slides out of his fingers; sometimes in great leaps and bounds but often, rather more slowly. Kind of like the difference between the way high and low tides mash waves into the shore.
At first he presented us with a freefall. A mass of tears, agony, uncontrollable bowels (for months!), and then… unconsciousness.ICU. Pneumonia. Mystery illnesses the best doctors in the state are yet to solve.
And then a slow and painful recovery, during which I finally and for the first time in my life, learned more about who my father really is and how he feels about me, than I’ve ever been privy to.
You could even say… I never knew my father til he was dying. And then hallucinating, unbeknownst to any of us. And in that place, where the veils also thin, it seems he really saw me, also.
He saw around me… fairies, he called them. He asked in his quiet and mumbly manner, Why is it that I see so many fairies around you? So many more than around anyone else?
That question should’ve floored me given our lack of conversation on such topics EVER before. But my dad was dying, I’d known that for months.
So I simply told him why. That as a light worker – someone who works with energy to help align and heal others – I work with these beings of light. Call ’em angels, fairies or anything you please.
Which led to a most unusual conversation, culminating in my dad asking me: How do you get to be a fairy?
Ha! I’d never thought to ask my guides such a thing, but here was a seventy year old man who’d never shown even the slightest interest in spiritual topics, asking me the sort of question I’d expect from my sweet young nieces.
After yet another crisis of unconsciousness where we were once again told of my dad’s imminent demise, they solved his months of hallucinations by changing up his meds (yet again). No, he hadn’t had hospital delirium since he woke up in the ICU, he was just tripping on publically funded, hospital prescribed meds.
BUT… oh, he remembered his hallucinations with amazing clarity even once he was clean. He remembered the fairies and told me that he’d miss seeing them.
And then he asked me even more questions about my spiritual interests, my work as a healer and all the rest.
When we were done he told me, We always knew you were different. We just didn’t know how, and we never knew how to connect with you. I feel like we’ve missed out on so much.
But we haven’t though, Dad. None of that matters because THIS conversation is happening right now. As opposed to never.
Is it weird? I mean, is it WEIRD to have gratitude for my father’s slow and unpleasant demise?
No matter. I am grateful. Because I’d never have known how much he loves me. How sensitive and spiritual that man truly is, had he not chosen to catch the slow, leaky boat out of this life.