Daddy Don’t Cry
Those were
the words that brought this man from a place deep away in thought as he kneeled in
a garage, working on his motorcycle. He had gone out there for some quiet, he
had gone out there to work on his Harley and found himself polishing the
chrome, lost in his pain of impending loss of his child. He knew no other way;
there were no words to express his pain. After all he was the father, the
husband, he was supposed to be the protector of his family and now he had no
control of what seemed to be happening around him or in his life. As he pulled up an egg crate and gathered his
tools he was consumed with fear, with grief, with anger; he was watching his
beloved little girl get weaker by the day, and there was nothing he could do to
change it. Life was not supposed to be this way he found himself saying over
and again as he used more and more force behind the rag on that chrome. He was not aware that tears were falling from
his face as he came to the reality that his child was dying as she lay in the
house, it was only a matter of time, and he was her daddy yet he was helpless
for the first time in his life to keep her from harm.
As he
recalled the first trip to the doctor, the diagnosis, the looks she would give
him in hospitals during procedures he scrubbed harder, his angst mounted. He
did not know he did not think he could live through what was coming and the
tears streamed down his face, he was lost in his pain and didn’t hear the door
open, didn’t hear footsteps and didn’t know anyone other than he and his
thoughts were anywhere around. He didn’t even realize the important grief work
he was doing at the time, when all of a sudden a gentle little hand touched his
shoulder and a little body leaned into him saying, “Daddy don’t cry, I’m here.”
It was his
little girl; she had come from her bed to the garage, in fluffy frog slippers
quietly looking for him, somehow knowing he would be out in that garage,
working on his bike. She so loved that motorcycle and the times he had given
her a ride. She had her own helmet, her own special t-shirt he had made for her
that had a photo of the two of them sitting on it. She had found him, she knew
where he would be, and she gently reached up and touched his face, “Don’t cry
daddy, I want you to know I will be with angels, and that means I will be with
you always cos’ I see them here sometimes.”
As he tried
to gather himself in front of her, he looked into her eyes and realized she was
comforting him about her own mortality, and had to put her on his lap to hug
her tightly. Could he bear to hear what she had to say, was he strong enough?
It seemed he had no choice for as he hugged her tightly, she wiped his tears
once again, then leaned back to get a close look at her Daddy and let him know
she was going to be alright in heaven and wanted him to know she was not
afraid. As he tried to speak, this
little one placed a finger on his lips to silence him; she needed to speak more
than ever now it seemed. As she continued she let him know of seeing the
angels, of talking to them and knowing that she would also be one soon. She wanted him to realize that angels visit
often, and that she would let him know that she was safe so that he would not
have to be sad, but it would be OK to miss her, because she would miss their
hugs and motorcycle rides. As he sat speechless, his little girl let him know
that she had asked about that too from the angels who told her, she could still
ride, just differently than ever before, and that she would be able to let her
daddy know that she was OK, and she would be helping him to be OK as well, if
he could just believe that she had been there for only a short while but
forever a love will live.
As this man
sat with his child on his lap, tears flowing he felt as though an old soul was
speaking to him for the first time in his life.
He had never experienced anything quite like it, yet his heart was
breaking as she finished by saying, “you know something daddy? Everyone cries
when I try to talk, it is me who is dying but everyone else makes me feel bad
and won’t let me talk because when I do they start crying. That is not really
fair I do not think, do you? I think we should be having some fun now more than
ever because my forever is not that long in person right now and I want us to
have fun and talk some more and sometimes I might want to cry to. Do you think
we could try that anyways? Now will you sneak me for a ride since it is so
shiny?”
This man had
the richest gift of his life that day in the garage, a little one who insisted
that she be listened to; a child with an old soul who needed him to know that
she was the one who was dying and there was no time for crying as she wanted to
live, to ride as she acknowledged his work through grief with a rag in the
garage. Much was learned that day on
listening, on being present from the mouths of the little ones who have been
visited by the angels and know where they are going. We could all learn from
the little ones many are old souls… grief is work and each do that work in
unique ways, on their own time and in their own way.
Walk in beauty,
DRSES
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