The Great Beyond

John's Dad :)

Today is the 21st anniversary of the passing of my father-in-law, my husband's dad, a wonderful man I never had the chance to meet.  John was only 19 when his dad passed away unexpectedly from a heart attack.  As I contemplated the significance of today, I realized that my husband has now spent more than half his life without his dad. Then I considered the fact that by the time I reach the age when I will have spent more than half of MY life without my dad, I will be 83 years old. Wow. Puts things into perspective.

I wish I could have met John's father.  He sounds like a really nice man.  Everything I've heard about him from friends and relatives paints a picture of a man who loved to be around people, who relished talking to anyone who happened to cross his path and who delighted in making jokes and getting people to laugh.  He loved his wife, he loved his sons and I'm sure he would have been an incredible grandfather to his four grandchildren.  It's hard to understand why God would take someone away who still had so much love to give and so much life to live.

Thinking about John's dad today made me think a lot about my own dad and I had some meltdowns in my car as I drove between appointments.  During one of these meltdowns I was listening to Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard singing "Pancho and Lefty", a song that always brings back a very vivid memory involving my Tato.  It was Thanksgiving 2004 and I was waking up at my parents' house after a very crazy Thanksgiving the day before.  Ella was only three weeks old and I had picked her up and laid her on the bed next to me and was just staring at her in awe as she slept beside me.  Suddenly at that very moment, my Dad turned on "Pancho and Lefty" on the stereo downstairs and must have cranked the volume up really high, because I felt like the song was surrounding me.  It's a beautiful song and as I lay there listening to it, I felt surrounded by peace and an overwhelming love for my family and for this brand-new baby lying next to me.  I will never forget it. 

Thinking about my Tato and John's dad made me think of the great beyond, the afterlife, heaven, or as one of my patients calls it, "the spirit world".  I've always had this vague notion of heaven, of something more than life on earth, but it wasn't until I lost my dad that I finally started feeling strongly that there is such a place, that we do go somewhere else after we leave this world.  There HAS to be a heaven because there is no way that my Tato just vanished into thin air and is no longer anywhere.  He has to be somewhere.  I feel his presence sometimes in subtle ways, like when I'm scraping the paint off the kitchen cabinets, or his favorite song starts to play while I'm driving, or I point out a beautiful sky to my kids and they say things like "It looks like someone painted it". 

After Tato passed away, I took some of his things home with me.  One thing was the shirt he was wearing on his last day on earth.  It was a t-shirt with Tigger on it that I'd brought back for him from Disney after our honeymoon thirteen years ago.  Even though I put it in a drawer and haven't looked at it much since then, it's comforting to know that I have one of the last things he ever touched.

The other thing I brought home was the pink doodle pad that he communicated with during the last months of his life.  It was Ella's doodle pad, a gift she'd gotten for Christmas when she was about three years old.  We gave it to my Dad when it became apparent that typing on a keyboard was becoming too difficult for him.  Even on the last day of his life he was using that doodle pad to boss us around, his way of maintaining control of a situation that was quickly deteriorating.  The doodle pad was his connection to us and to everyone who walked into his room.

When I came home I placed the doodle pad on my dresser and on a whim I wrote something on it like "I miss you."  I can't remember exactly what I wrote, but I felt compelled to write something.  It seemed so empty just sitting there.  Over the next week or so I would change the message and it became my way of talking to him.  "Fly me to the Moon" I wrote one day after I'd played one of his favorite songs on the piano.  "Where are you?" I wrote another time.  Sometimes I just drew pictures: hearts, flowers, musical notes, whatever I could think of.

I guess Ella noticed me doing this, because one day I went over to the doodle pad and this is what I found . .

Amazing, right?  Then Jack noticed what Ella was doing and he wrote this . . .

I like to call these "Messages to Heaven", or "Earth to Poppy", or "Notes to the Great Beyond".  Whatever you call it, it's a sign that we all believe that somehow, somewhere, Tato still exists in another world that we can only imagine.  And better yet, it means that we all believe that we will see him again one day.

I like to picture my dad and John's dad hanging out together.  They never met in life but they have a lot of traits in common: white beards, big smiles, the gift of gab, and a great love of family.  They both had a huge impact on everyone who crossed paths with them.  I'm sure they are laughing it up in heaven, telling corny jokes and sharing stories of their interesting lives. 



John's Dad - bearded and smiley :)





My Dad - also bearded and smiley :)



Rest in peace, Jack and Richard.  We're so glad you've finally had a chance to meet and that we'll see you again one day.