Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain

"My father's eyes

When I looked in my father's eyes"

The last time I looked into my father's eyes was a year and a day ago. It was one brief glimpse of bright blue as he looked at us for the last time. Did he see us? I like to believe he did. It was the most movement we had seen in those eyes for several days, and he scanned the four of us, as if taking one last look. His eyes seemed bluer than they had for some time, most likely because the color of his skin had become almost ghost like.

I was hoping to sleep till at least four this morning, No such luck. It was three-fifteen when my brain reminded me that I have one more story to write about him.

The call came at 5:10, August 13, 2012. The nursing facility which he had called home for the last several months of his life called me, not my mother, to say he was gone. For the past few days, his chest barely moved as he breathed. Sometime during that early morn, his breathing just stopped.

Dawn was just breaking as I drove my mother to say goodbye to the man she had loved since she was sixteen. Not being in a hospital meant the facility was very quiet when we arrived, I was thankful for that. Not much was different from the last time I had seen him a few hours before, except that everything was different.

From the day he entered the hospital a few months earlier, we knew things would change, and change quickly. When you have no options, you hope for speed. While you desperately wish to go back, hold onto the good times, the lifetime of memories, the man he was... in reality all you wish is that he does not suffer.

In the end, he was luckier than most with pancreatic cancer. Discomfort yes, but agonizing pain never came to be. I could not be more thankful for that.

Just as my dad's journey is over, so are my posts about him. When I started writing about him, around his last birthday, he wasn't sick... just getting tired. It really wasn't a plan to write his story, those of you who know me are well aware I don't plan much, other than a concert schedule. But it helped to write. It's always been easier for me to write words rather than speak them.

So I'll say goodbye to him one more time. Looking at the clock, it's almost 5:10, and the house is at peace.

Just like my dad.

Miss you Pops.


For anyone who wants to read the rest of the story, The Journey Home, has the links to all of them.