It's All About the Hellos

by Michele Oksen

The following is a true story told to me by a friend whose father died with a content smile on his face. Only the names have been fictionalized.

On one side of his bed, family had been saying their goodbyes. Somewhere on another side of the bed, Ward heard something quite different.

For a moment, upon awakening surrounded by a semi-circle of sniffling adult children and grandchildren, Ward had seemed lucid.

"How's Skipper? " he'd asked, worried about his canine companion.

"Don't worry Dad. Skipper's doing just fine. "

Ward, ninety-seven years old, had lived without help up until he slipped and fell. Over the years he had continued to pen poetry for his beloved wife, Clara, who had passed twenty years previously. His children had unofficially diagnosed him with a degree of dementia shortly after her death, but Ward had refused to leave his home for various reasons, the last being the placement of his faithful hound. "Take me to see where he's going, " Ward had insisted.

Once he felt certain his dog was happy at the farm outside of town, Ward had not objected when the family came for him. Nevertheless, the move to what he called the "last stop hotel " weighed heavily on everyone's hearts.

"This place is a warehouse of wasted wisdom, " Ward had said. Menacing moans from other residents at the care facility floated up and down the corridors. Ward shook his head in sadness and resignation.

"Sorrowful sages, in need of students. "

Within weeks of Ward's arrival, his physical strength no longer supported him, yet his mental muscle seemed powerful enough to take him wherever he wanted to go. Yesterday morning Ward had insisted he'd had a fine time the night before.

"Drank a bit too much with my friends at the dance last night, " Ward had said. "Feelin' a bit fuzzy this morning but Clara and I had a grand time. " Ward's eyes seemed to see something faraway. "She looked so lovely in her blue dress, looked like an angel."

Considering the fact that his friends and his wife had been deceased for nearly two decades the family played along. They imagined their mother's grace as she took their father's hand in hers and the two of them twirled around a celestial dance-floor.

Though Ward's ramblings had been mysterious, they'd also been marvelous. The family felt grateful he could spend his time dancing with his wife, mesmerized by her intense blue-green eyes, rather than cashing it in while crying over spilt milk, wet sheets, or loneliness.

During the last few days, whenever Ward had been awake to the physically occupied world, he shared more stories of his dreamtime activities — journeys that had him venture further and further into what seemed to be a spiritually engaged realm.

"Everyone was so glad to see me, " he had said upon waking.

"Of course they were, Grandpa. "

"They were smiling and they all ran over to greet me, " Ward had explained with a grin. "Just like Skipper used to do, you know? Clara was there, my parents, Uncle Joe, even my old horse Charlie. They were all there to welcome me. "

"That's nice, Dad. "

"Death isn't about the goodbyes at all. It's all about the hellos. "

Photo by Lindy Swanson Pedotti
Banner Image by Fugle