The Longest Day

October 20 1988 was the beginning of my journey of dealing with the death of a parent.

We were woken with the words Your father wants you to know that he loves you and he is very very proud of you.

And so began the longest day of my life. A day that visited our household much too soon.

It was Thursday morning and mum had just returned from the hospital where dad had been since Tuesday evening of that same week. In 14 months this had been his longest stint in hospital and the only stay that wasn’t for a specific treatment, so we knew this was it.

The rest of the day was a blur of visitors, phone calls and meetings with medical staff. Time slowed down and preserved so many moments of that day. I remember phoning relatives and friends to tell them to come. I remember every conversation. I remember yellow roses. I remember seeing dad’s face light up with joy and recognition in his final moments. He looked right past us, up into the corner of the room, we looked around and asked who was there, and then he was gone. I remember the sense of peace we all felt as we left his room, knowing he was no longer there.

I remember the sense of confirmation as we entered another room, and the first thing we saw was a painting of horses running along the beach which hung on the wall, almost identical to the one we had at home. Dad would look at it as he lay on the lounge and he’d say I’m going to be free like those horses one day.

And I remember the prophetic words of Don McLean, singing to me over the radio as I got into my car to head home, This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

Most of all I remember the goodbyes. The unspoken words that hung in the room waiting to be plucked from the air and breathed into life, yet left with every visitor, empty yet filled with regret. 

I love you.

I’m going to miss you.

I remember when….,

I’m sorry.

I’m angry.

I respect you.

I wish…

And I remember being so happy that I had spoken before that day.

OK, I didn’t really speak, I was scared I might cry, so I wrote a letter and we both cried together anyway 🙂 In the letter I told him everything I thought about him, even the bits that annoyed me. I told him what other people thought of him as I believe it is a great compliment when it comes from a third party. Most importantly, I told him that I loved him.

And there were no words left hanging around.

No regrets.

Why is it so hard for us to say what’s in our heart? Maybe it’s because saying it leaves us vulnerable and that’s a very scary place to be in. Or maybe we have every intention of saying what’s on our hearts but, you know, life just has this funny habit of getting in the way. Or could it be that we’ve not thought about it that deeply, maybe we haven’t thought about it much at all and we don’t really know what’s there. If so, shouldn’t we take the time to find out before it’s too late?

I called this post “The Longest Day” because when I started writing it, it was anniversary day and I was reflecting on that day and wanting to remember and honour my dad.

Not a day goes by that I won’t remember and honour him. But now I’m reminded that I have beautiful friends and family that deserve to be honoured more regularly.

Now. 

Today.

And by honouring, I don’t just mean telling them all the good stuff that I love about them. It’s also about loving them enough to let them know when I’m hurt by an action or word and giving them the right of reply, the right to make it better.

Life is too short to be silent. Let’s resolve to make every day a long day by making every moment count.

No regrets