Tuesday Morning

How could we have possibly known?

Funny that I ask, because we have known. We have been slowly and reluctantly preparing ourselves for this day for two years, ever since the word "Parkinson's" became a regular part of our everyday vocabulary. Yet when I answered the phone Tuesday morning, the very last thing I expected to hear was that my father, my Daddy, was gone.

Was it not just two days before, that Mom was telling me of his newest goal? My brother Joshua, his wife, and I were all planning to come home that very Friday. It was just a weekend visit, one of many as we wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, since he had so little left. But Daddy was absolutely determined to greet his children by walking down the stairs of the front porch, rather than wheel down the ramp in his chair, or worse, wait inside for us. She told me he had spent an hour everyday of the last week practicing on the back porch with his trusty cane. I imagined a bright and sunny West Texas sky shining down on Daddy, lighting his way while he determinedly walked down one step, then the other. Then back up one step, then the other.

"How are you, Daddy?" He always answered that he was just fine. He was more concerned that we, too, were "just fine."

"And you? How's work? How's the car running? Ya'll be careful, now." Always the same. He did not look like the same man I knew and loved, but he always sounded the same. Same questions, same sweet voice.

Then, Tuesday morning came. The pain was like nothing I had ever before experienced. No amount of time could have ever prepared me. Yet, I had to be strong. Strong for Momma, who suffered with him and by him. Strong for Joshua, who knew him longer than I did. My mind and soul repeated the words of friends and relatives, telling my heart that he was in a much better place where he would walk without canes and without pain. That he will always be with me and watching over us all to make sure we were "just fine." But the heart can be a very stubborn thing. It did not want to let go, certain that it would break. And here I am now, saying my last goodbye, my last "I love you."

Daddy, I know now that you are just fine, and that I will see you again. Walk with the Shepard, bask in His goodness and kindness, and be in peace at long last. Thank you for my life. Thank you for showing me true strength and courage. Thank you for inspiring me. Thank you for always being there. Thank you for your love. Know that it is returned now and forever.