Mon Pere

We all have fathers  
Not everyone has a dad.  
 
It's 4.30 am  
It's as it should be at this time of day,
dark and quiet.  
 
I'm on the back deck  
scorching cup of tea as my trusted companion.  
Was awake for an hour before arising.  
 
My father was on my mind.  
Which is strange as I don't think of him much since he died.....no euphemism here....he died.  
 
It's funny what you recall about the day or night a parent dies.  
 
I was called to the hospital by my sister,  
There had been some complications with my fathers routine heart surgery....stents.  
I got there quickly.  
In the waiting room were my mother and siblings.All language had been suckled out of the room but eyes told their stories.  
 
My parents had met as teenagers and were married young....19 for Mum,25 for Dad.  
Though no words had yet been spoken,  
I knew that mum knew dad's game would end that night.  
Here is the thing with such long relationships, you don't need words.Im sure mum and dad were silently talking to each other.  
So I knew, she knew, dad's game would end that night.  
 
Several times the surgeons came out to reassure us that they'd stopped the bleeding.  
I relaxed a bit but not mum.  
I knew, she knew.  
Dad's game would end that night.  
 
My dad was a joker and he'd passed some of that silliness on to me.  
Is it any surprise then,that the last words I ever said to my father were  
'don't follow the light'...we smiled together. There was a look on his face I'd never really seen before.Not fear, maybe a sense that he knew more than he was letting on.
I don't know if he said anything as he turned and went back inside.
 
Now, somewhere in that hospital, the light I asked Dad not to follow was following him.
Not stalking, more like illuminating his way, I hope that's how it was.  
 
The surgeon returned late in the night or early in the morning.Who can remember or wants to remember the exact moment bad news is delivered?  
 
"We can't stop the bleeding,now's the moment for saying good-bye, we did all we could".He said more I'm sure but no one heard his words.Our minds were filled with other words.  
 
They wheeled Dad into some ante room with all his electronic buddies by his side.He wasn't cold yet but I was.His buddies bright eyed were chattering away, doing exactly what machines are supposed to do.They rarely lie.  
 
I remember holding Dads hand and thinking how lovely his nails looked.His skin so soft from pawing over pen and paper, not axes or chainsaws, he loved books.A doctor of philosophy you know.  
 
I remember, the tears that didn't come as the heart monitor slowly spread the word.  
And then he was gone.  
 
No fanfare,no angels, no choir singing his praises.He was, then he wasn't.  
 
It's funny what sticks in your mind from a night  like that  
 
The brand new running shoes I was wearing.  
The police officers who arrived as per protocol if someone dies in surgery.  
The stillness and peacefulness of my mind on the drive home.  
The lack of tears from this strange family of stoics.  
 
We all have fathers  
Not everyone has a dad.  
 
Hello Dad I'm thinking of you and no  
I'm not bloody well crying.