"Not While I Live, and Remember!"
Dec. 22nd, 2013 12:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stoutfellowMy father died yesterday.
It was the day of the family Christmas get-together. D and I were sitting with him, in his room at the home. His breathing was labored, as it had been the day before... until suddenly it ceased, and he lost consciousness. The staff supplied him with oxygen and called 9-1-1; we rushed him to the nearest hospital. To no avail; he passed away some six hours later, without regaining consciousness.
The get-together went on. For the first time in several years, the whole clan (save one) was present, three generations - there had been four. For the youngest generation, a party; for the older two, something of a wake. Tears, embraces, twisted smiles, solemn words, memories - and the children, whom he loved and who loved him. The clan persists, without its patriarch; it even thrives.
We go on.
++++++++
I have been haunted for years by the last verse of "The Living Years": I wasn't there that morning / when my father passed away. I take some small solace in the fact that that did not come true.
++++++++
Piotr, sneering: Your father is dead!
Cordelia, defiant: Not while I live, and remember!
[Lois McMaster Bujold, Barrayar]
It was the day of the family Christmas get-together. D and I were sitting with him, in his room at the home. His breathing was labored, as it had been the day before... until suddenly it ceased, and he lost consciousness. The staff supplied him with oxygen and called 9-1-1; we rushed him to the nearest hospital. To no avail; he passed away some six hours later, without regaining consciousness.
The get-together went on. For the first time in several years, the whole clan (save one) was present, three generations - there had been four. For the youngest generation, a party; for the older two, something of a wake. Tears, embraces, twisted smiles, solemn words, memories - and the children, whom he loved and who loved him. The clan persists, without its patriarch; it even thrives.
We go on.
++++++++
I have been haunted for years by the last verse of "The Living Years": I wasn't there that morning / when my father passed away. I take some small solace in the fact that that did not come true.
++++++++
Piotr, sneering: Your father is dead!
Cordelia, defiant: Not while I live, and remember!
[Lois McMaster Bujold, Barrayar]
no subject
Date: 2013-12-22 05:50 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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