Volume 3 Issue 7

July, 2002

To

my Dad

on

Father’s

Day

My father died today.  He breathed his last.  My life with him has been divided into distinct stages and now it  appears I have another to which I must adapt.  Each of the stages of our relationship had its gratifications as well as trials.  Each required me to grow and learn.  I am sure he grew as well, but  his growth came from his efforts at   orchestrating changes  and challenges in our lives rather than from the changes themselves.  When, as a teenager, I complained that he was too inconsistent, therefore difficult to relate to, he replied that at least he was “consistent in his inconsistency.”  How do you answer that?  He reveled in any discussion that ended with me too flustered to argue more.  He knew I would stew over the discourse for some time.  But that was useless as we never revisited a topic.  I never had a second chance to come up with a statement that would end the debate in in my favor.  Rather he would introduce another idea that needed my understanding and full attention.  It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized  he was teaching me to think critically.  When I was a teenager I believed he never agreed with me.  In fact, we agreed quite a bit.  I just never knew it until I was able to look beyond the debates to the plan behind them.

 He didn’t want to die.  He had some living to do.  He had obligations to complete.  He had goals to reach.  He had penance to pay.  He had so much left to do.  He didn’t want to die.  But, his body left him.  His body could have paid out much longer had he not succumbed to an illness, one that many people (younger ones) overcome.  Though often older people don’t have the strength to survive its invasion we thought there was a chance.  That’s why we agreed to medical intervention that was painful, humiliating, untimely, and unable to foster healing.  He lived longer, a few months, but they weren’t enjoyable for him.  This medical experiment did, however, buy time for all of his daughters to be at his side, to tell him how much we loved him.  And, for that I am grateful.  I am grateful for the technology that allowed this time, grateful for Dad’s endurance and hope. 

 My father, like many men, had trouble understanding the women in his life.  And he had quite a few.  Besides his wife, he had five daughters.  I joked that one of the reasons he embraced a job which required travel was to give him respite from a home bursting with estrogen.  But, I believe the women in his life really encouraged him in many of his interests and turned the ground for him to become a more understanding man.  Though his occupation was one of technology and numbers, his avocation was philosophy and the search for truth.   He constantly looked for patterns in his life.  He did not believe in chance.  He knew that we all steer our lives in ways that provide us the opportunities to learn and observe more.  He also knew that we didn’t always take advantage of the opportunities that came to us.  His relationship with each of his daughters was different as he attempted to steer each to make use of her own talents.  He taught us individually as he thought we would best respond.  Coming up with 5 distinct ways to tie a shoelace has to be a singular feat. 

My father loved living.  He liked being outdoors, travel, poetry, discourse, a drink with a friend.  He embraced his life and took risks.  He encouraged his daughters to reach out and take advantage of all that life offered.  He measured success not in outcomes but in the level of interest, intensity and effort an endeavor evoked. 

His life was one of variety.  He believed that spending time only with people of like minds resulted in  rigidity, torpor and insensitivity.  He once suggested that  that a law making it a crime to spend free time only with those of your occupation would not be out of order.  This commitment to diversity allowed him to easily accept that each of his 5 daughters are of different faiths.  He only asked that we understand the path we choose and embrace it fully. 

In The Tibetan Book of the Dead the living are instructed to pray and meditate on the loved one who has died.  These prayers and meditations are for the loved one to pass through the gates of the afterlife with ease.  We, the living, are admonished to not succumb to overwhelming grief and longing for our loved one’s return.  We are, after all, born to die.  A loved one’s death is a test of our ability to let go,  to not cling to that which we know, to face change without fear.  The Tibetan Book of the Dead states that we can actually distract our loved one from his/her course with our sorrow.  Long before my father died he told us that he didn’t want a wake.  He expected all who loved him to have a grand party.  I used to think that was selfish on his part, after all he wouldn’t be the one left behind, grieving.  But, I’m beginning to understand.  This is only another stage in our relationship.

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Grief

Don’t

Surrender

Your loneliness

so quickly.

Let it cut more

Deep.

Let it ferment and

 season you

As few human

Or even divine

ingredients can.

Something missing

in my heart tonight

Has made my

eyes so soft,

My voice so

Tender,

My need of God

Absolutely

Clear.

   - Hafiz

Forward bends are self-hugs.  The allow us to look into our hearts while in a protective posture.  It gives us time to experience God’s arm around our shoulders.  While in a forward bend the back and legs are lengthened and we may experience greater flexibility as a result of the time in the posture.  But, more importantly we gain time to explore our grief and observe that it is born of great joy.  The longer we can rest in the posture, the more balanced our grief and joy become.   

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