Lesson #18 "Those That Have Gone Are Still Within Us"

I can't not post today.  I have to write about my dad, John Austin Heidersbach, who passed away four years ago today.  In some ways it feels like a lifetime ago- since that day I have regained the love of my life, have married him and had a son with him.  Other times, though, I feel as if it was just yesterday that I was in the hospital waiting room after being asked to leave while they "worked" on my dad.  That is how I feel today. 

I can still see Dad's face as I left the room, a small smile of reassurance passed my way because he always knew I was a worrier and he knew that Amy, the one person I needed to be there, was far away.  I can still feel my mom's hand in my own, warm and comforting, sending me back to the days of my childhood after scrapes and hurt feelings and broken hearts when she was the only one who could make me feel better.  And I can still hear Marilyn's beautiful voice while she next to me in the waiting room- this special woman in my life who met me in the middle of the night in order to support me through what was the roughest time I had known.  Finally, I remember Daddy Don, my rock, steady and true, providing hugs when needed and safe silence when talking seemed trivial.

The details of the next few hours are muddled, but the moment they called us back in the room I knew something had changed.  And while I held Dad's hand for the last time, he looked calm.  He looked peaceful.  And he released a final breath with the intention of a good man saying goodbye to all those he loved, and with the wisdom of someone who stood on the edge of two worlds and who could see that the next one held all that it had promised. 

Afterwards, the details are once again lost.  There was crying.  There was the worst phone call I ever had to make- telling my sister that our Dad was gone.  There was fatigue.  There was grief.  There was the looking through photos, planning the service, choosing the music, packing his apartment, and on and on.

Eventually Amy and I decided to take Dad's ashes to Paris and to take the trip he never could.  We walked from cafe to cafe, from museum to museum, seeing it all through Dad's eyes.  We saw works of art that would have astounded him.  We walked the city streets and thought of him, spoke about him and toasted to him.  It was as if being together made it better... and after that, it became a little easier each day.

So now, four years later, Amy and I are both married to wonderful men and are living the lives Dad dreamed for us.  Dad is in our daily lives, in small ways.  My classroom and home have his paintings on their walls.  Amy and I speak of him all the time, whenever we hear a song that reminds us of him .  We share memories without tears now and they comfort us.  He is all around us.

And little Liam John, my son, reminds me of him every day.  Those that have gone, are still within us.  Lesson well learned.