SAYING A FINAL GOODBYE TO MY FATHER-IN-LAW

We buried my father-in-law today.  It was just family, standing around a shallow opening in the ground.  With the town cemetery's permission, his two sons had dug the hole the night before, by hand, using my favorite gardening shovel.  The shovel broke, which made me happy.  It was final proof that I had given John my all.  

The sun was hot; incredibly hot.   As we placed the urn in the damp dirt of the small university town where he had taught physics for 40+ years, I remembered a man of impeccable integrity, subtle humor, and sheer goodness.  Then I held hands with Duncan and his family, and we sang, humbly, with only a few birds and the gentle wind as accompaniment. 

For years, Duncan and I have lived just a few miles away from John and his wife, Kate.  It hasn't always been easy, but it has always been worth it. 

One of my favorite memories of John is on my wedding day.  As I stepped out of the car in front of the church, resplendent (if I must say so myself!) in my cathedral length train, it was John who took my hand.  I've always wondered how he knew to be there, standing at the curb.  At the precise time.  But that was John. He wanted to help me as I transitioned, literally, between my old and new lives.  When he let go of my hand, I could still feel his strength and support.  A few minutes later, I took a deep breath, and started to walk down the aisle toward the man I loved, and the one he was giving up.  

Two days before John died, he slipped into unconsciousness.  That morning, I whispered in his ear, and told him that I loved him, and that he was one of the most important people in my life.  A warm tear slid down his cheek.  It was his final, and best, gift to me.  The night before he died, I reminded him of something he had told my sons many times when they were young.  He would rub their backs at bedtime, and say, in a quiet voice, "The day is done.  Now, sink into the mattress."   I tried my best to reassure John that he had lived a great life, with overwhelming honor, and that his work here was done.  We would all be fine, and it was OK for him to let go.  I kissed his forehead and told him that now it was his turn to sink into the mattress.  Then I left.

He was gone the next morning. 

It's a blessing if you can bury a loved one with no regrets; only love.  It gives you a freedom, a lightness, to move ahead with life.  That's how I feel about John.  I can never thank him enough for all the joy he brought me during his life, and for the peace I feel in his absence.  

Sleep well, John. I will miss you.  Terribly.   However, in your honor, I will continue to embrace the ordinary moments that make life extraordinary.  With you in my heart, and your son by my side.