CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- Here we are with another "first" for many of you -- the first Father's Day without your dad -- or your child.
No doubt you've found it hard to escape all the reminders -- the advertisements, Hallmark cards and references that start right after Mother's Day. Unfortunately, this "first" club is much larger than you think. And it may help to know others are going through the very same thing as they try to make sense of it all.
One of the best things about writing this column is the feedback I get from you. I always affirm that "we all learn from each other," and a recent e-mail I got definitely drives this point home.
Mary Schultz, of Charleston, shared with me her wonderful journey with her dad during his last days. She said she was inspired by my Mother's Day column, which listed words of wisdom from my mom, and then told how she recorded her own reflections of her dad.
Titled "Nature's Lessons," Mary recounted how she was a shadow to her dad during her childhood, following him around doing chores on their small farm. Curious by nature, Mary was always asking him questions like "Daddy, how does this work?" or "Daddy, why is it like that?"
Most always he gave her a proper answer, Mary said. "And like most little girls, I thought my daddy knew everything! There were times, however, when he wasn't able to explain in detail, perhaps because it was more than I needed to know or that I was too small to really understand. So, his favorite answer to me was, 'That's just nature,' and it always satisfied me."
Mary's father celebrated his 88th birthday last August and announced he was going to live to be 100. Through a twist of nature, though, he had a massive stroke around Thanksgiving, and the family was told he'd never recover.
They began "comfort care," providing only end-of-life pain management, and immediately joined the legion of fans (including my entire family) of the Hubbard Hospice House whose mission is to take care of their patients and their families.
CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- Here we are with another "first" for many of you -- the first Father's Day without your dad -- or your child.
No doubt you've found it hard to escape all the reminders -- the advertisements, Hallmark cards and references that start right after Mother's Day. Unfortunately, this "first" club is much larger than you think. And it may help to know others are going through the very same thing as they try to make sense of it all.
One of the best things about writing this column is the feedback I get from you. I always affirm that "we all learn from each other," and a recent e-mail I got definitely drives this point home.
Mary Schultz, of Charleston, shared with me her wonderful journey with her dad during his last days. She said she was inspired by my Mother's Day column, which listed words of wisdom from my mom, and then told how she recorded her own reflections of her dad.
Titled "Nature's Lessons," Mary recounted how she was a shadow to her dad during her childhood, following him around doing chores on their small farm. Curious by nature, Mary was always asking him questions like "Daddy, how does this work?" or "Daddy, why is it like that?"
Most always he gave her a proper answer, Mary said. "And like most little girls, I thought my daddy knew everything! There were times, however, when he wasn't able to explain in detail, perhaps because it was more than I needed to know or that I was too small to really understand. So, his favorite answer to me was, 'That's just nature,' and it always satisfied me."
Mary's father celebrated his 88th birthday last August and announced he was going to live to be 100. Through a twist of nature, though, he had a massive stroke around Thanksgiving, and the family was told he'd never recover.
They began "comfort care," providing only end-of-life pain management, and immediately joined the legion of fans (including my entire family) of the Hubbard Hospice House whose mission is to take care of their patients and their families.
Here's the rest of Mary's story in her own profound words:
"Although we knew he was dying, it was very important to me that he never be left alone, so I stayed with him day and night with relief given by family members. Having the time alone with him, I was able to reflect on my life and all the lessons he had taught me. All of a sudden, it became very clear that he had been preparing me all my life for this moment -- and that he knew I would be able to accept it when the time came.
"Now, as I sit by his bedside waiting for him to pass, I reflect back on all those years that he helped me grow to be the woman I am today. He instilled in me hard work, integrity, passion to do the things you love and the will to embrace those around you with a caring attitude.
"And now, as I am ready to 'let him go,' I still find myself asking him, 'Daddy, why do you have to die this way?' And then I realize it all comes back to me full circle as I am comforted by hearing him say, 'That's just nature.'
"Little did I know he was teaching me then how to prepare for the true-life experiences I would be dealing with today. I have accepted the fact that God gives you the gift of life on earth for a reason -- to grow and enrich your life, to share that enrichment with others and, when the end of life comes, to leave it with a unique lasting legacy.
"I now fully accept and simply state in my daddy's words: 'That's just nature.' "
Thanks, Mary, for sharing your heartfelt words. I'm holding the vision they can be of comfort to other families who are struggling with their "first" Father's Day. Or those like the Allowatt and Painter families -- and many others -- who are undergoing extreme challenges with their loved ones.
And so goes the circle of life.
Linda Arnold, MBA, is a certified wellness instructor and chairwoman/CEO of The Arnold Agency, a marketing communications company specializing in advertising, public relations, government relations and interactive marketing. Reader comments may be directed to Linda Arnold, The Arnold Agency, 117 Summers St., Charleston, WV 25301, or e-mailed to livelifefu...@arnoldagency.com.
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