My father died today. Around three thirty. My older sister Carolyn was with him. It is what he wanted. He was not happy with his life.
I was in Edgerton garden around that time, a fitting place. I was weeding, and planting. Things my father did, which instilled the love of gardening in me.
I had a dream last night about a cobalt blue glass goblet. It was etched with names, or dates, or something else, I cannot remember. It broke in the dream, and I knew it could not be repaired, it was so precious. I may have been passing it to someone else, perhaps one of my sisters, when it broke.
I will go to Illinois tomorrow for a few days.
Rest in peace, Daddy.
3 comments:
be strong my friend! pace all'anima sua
My thoughts are with you. I wish you and your family the best.
My father was a gardener too. I imagined him as an old tree when he died. I understood what you said when you described working on the ground as he was dying. You have a gift for that and it sounds as though you can trace it to your dad. It's a strange old feeling, that sadness. vxxx
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