Papa

To bear witness to someone you love walking toward the end of their days is both utterly devastating and truly sacred. Especially when that person has guided your entire life.

I, myself, have spent decades teaching the lessons of impermanence. Be present. Nothing lasts forever. Loosen the grip as life is always changing. 

All the while, my father, my children’s Papa, has been the epicenter of my life.  Since I can remember, he has held me so gently and so openly, with no judgment and no criticism.  He has been my soft place to land, the one to call, my home base, my teacher and guide.  And now I am watching him suffer a slow and painful decline.

I'm watching his partner of decades grieve the loss of the future she imagined with the man she loves. I'm watching my sisters and me - who struggle with gentle communication - gather around this beloved man we've orbited around our entire lives. I'm watching his sisters, nieces, and friends check in on him and hold space for him.

I'm scared. But more importantly, I think he's scared.

None of us knows what lies on the other side of this very short lifetime we're lucky enough to live.

This year, in particular, I have been fortunate enough to sit with him in the parks where he grew up, to meet childhood friends he hadn't seen in forty years, to revisit old haunts where we sat with my grandparents and ate Kelly's Roast Beef. I am so beyond grateful to rub his head and massage his aching feet. 

This man is so much more than a beautiful human...he's patient, so funny, deeply loving, incredibly kind, extraordinarily generous…there truly are not enough words.

He is the kind of man whose childhood friends still call. The kind of man whose sisters adore him. The kind of man whose presence made people feel safe and at ease.

While sitting with him recently, I asked him what he would do differently.

His answer was beautifully simple:

Appreciate the sunsets and sunrises. Notice the smells. Enjoy the taste of good food.

And most importantly, revel in the time with your people as much as you can.

I've cried endless tears—not only because of the loss I know is coming for me, his partner, my children, and my sisters, but because of the beauty that exists alongside it.

That's the part that feels so inexplicable.

How can there be so much gratitude and so much heartbreak at the exact same time?

So many of my dear tribe are walking this path right now, or have walked it before me. There is comfort in that. There is comfort in knowing that love and loss are experiences we all eventually share.

The yoga teachings and the teachings of sages who came before continue to echo: everything is impermanent....be here now.

I think impermanence is not just what makes life fragile. It's what makes life so insanely precious. It is what makes an ordinary fried white fish plate from Kelly's on Revere Beach, a glider on a back porch, a phone call with a friend, or one more afternoon holding your father's hand feel like everything and beyond.

The truth is, none of us knows what's next, so as trite as it sounds.....live today like it's your last.

Papa, when you read this please know that if there is such a thing as heaven, I know without a doubt, you'll end up there at the head of the class.

You have been the most beautiful guiding force in my life.

You taught me what kindness looks like. What generosity looks like. What patience looks like. You loved without keeping score. You showed up for me You made me feel seen. You made me feel safe....you've given me what every child dreams of and what every child needs.

What I know today is that love beyond measure, the type of love that is beyond words,  is not something everyone gets to experience, but I have because of you.

So while my heart is breaking, it is also overflowing with gratitude.

What a gift it has been to be your daughter.

If there are signs to send from wherever you're headed, I'll be waiting and watching for every single one.