Memorial gift

Early this morning, I was given a dream.

In it I saw my father who was happy, healthy and chatting easily with my 2nd aunt, and my 2nd and 6th uncles after a weekday afternoon mass at the Cathedral of the Good Shepherd. We all happened to attend the same mass and had spotted each other and were standing around in the car park for a quick chat.

When I saw him standing there in his blue pyjamas, I was overjoyed to see him. For it was so great to be able to see him smile, standing there looking so well even though it was a dream.

It is five years to the day since he passed on. I still remember his last day with us very vividly. The eventual realization that it was indeed his final day as he slowly slipped into a coma. And how the night before he must've known the end was near for he thanked us for taking care of him.

Thinking of him still makes me weep and I don't think I will ever stop mourning his loss. It is something I am glad for, for it proves to me that love is stronger even than death, and I know that this love that binds me to him will eventually see us reunited in the Father's embrace.

Regardless of loss, time moves on inexorably. Rather than wallow in sorrow, I choose to celebrate my father's life every day in the way I try to live up to his ideals of honour and integrity.

Every act of care and selfless giving to my mother.

Every deed of generosity that echoes his willingness to help those who were less privileged.

Every endeavour to forgive and actively foster family ties.

Every meal that is cooked with love and seasoned with his tastebuds of perfectionism.

And so tonight Mum and I sat down to a fine repast of fresh oysters, bratwurst and chilled white wine to give thanks to the man who lived life to the fullest in every sense of the word.

While life with Dad had its moments, there were also wonderful memories.

I choose to let go of the bad and cherish the good and I am grateful for the wonderful gift I received this early morn.