Now He Walks The Streets of Gold...

Brynwood Needleworks - My Dad

I awoke in the dark yesterday morning, and couldn't go back to sleep. I was up to take Carly out around 5:15 am, and when I came back inside, I sensed he was gone. My sister, Diana (his live-in caretaker for the past three months) rang my cell phone at 5:32 am to tell me what I already knew.

The man who was my childhood hero - with whom I'd reconciled only three months ago, after a ten year estrangement - had passed away. He left as he lived...on his terms. He didn't want to have his children around him to watch him die...not even Diana. He waited until she finally fell asleep in the wee hours yesterday morning, and then he left us. He said he wanted to live until July 3rd, and he achieved his last goal.

Brynwood Needleworks - With His Firstborn in 1955

I was blessed to be his first child of six. I had him all to myself for nearly two years before my sister came along, followed by a brother, two more sisters, and our youngest brother.

Nearly seven years ago, I wrote a vague post about saying goodbye. Family matters tore us apart, and he disowned me for taking a stand. We never spoke about it again - until he found out he had stage four prostate cancer in April of this year.

Brynwood Needleworks - Our First Reconciliation Hug

Two of my sisters called me to tell me that Dad was asking for me. He didn't remember our estrangement, and couldn't understand why I never came to see him. As he started his radiation treatments - in an effort to slow the progression of a spinal tumor that would quickly paralyze him - I drove to the clinic and talked with him in the parking lot. (Covid distanced us at that time.)

The second time I went to the clinic to see him in the parking lot, we embraced and I promised to see him soon at home. He asked visitors not to wear masks so that he could see our faces, and a parade of family members and friends traveled to central Wisconsin to see him and show him how loved he was. He'd never had so many regular visitors at his home in all the twenty seven years since my mother divorced him.

Brynwood Needleworks - A Smile Just For Me

 

From those two parking lot visits on, I drove to him almost weekly (with the exception of our trip to Florida), when I saw him the day after our return. On one of those trips (and hour and a half away from here), I asked him to smile for me. This picture was the result.

Every visit those first few weeks he'd apologize for whatever had happened between us. I knew he needed to ask forgiveness, and I knew I needed to give it. In the end, love brought us back together, and our visits were filled with old stories, shared memories, and much affection. He always ended our visits with a kiss and "I love you".

I saw him Monday of this past week. He complained that he was losing his voice. He was bedridden, hadn't been able to eat since Father's Day, drank little, and was heavily medicated. After a short visit, I leaned over to kiss him goodbye. In a quiet whisper, he kissed me and spoke words I'll never forget, but will forever hold in my heart. He gave me a final gift I'll carry with me until I see him again.

Sleep well, my dearest Dad. Your presence here will be deeply missed by all who knew and loved you. Thank you for not only the final gifts you gave to me, but for all the things you taught me as I was growing up. Until we're together again, I'll see you in my dreams. I love you. From your Donnie.