Transitions; For my Dad

My father passed away October 26th, 2007 surrounded by myself, my mom, my sister, and Raven. He had been sick with leukemia (and the chemotherapy to treat the leukemia) for the past two years. When he relapsed after being cancer-free for a few months we knew it would not be long before he died. This was the first death of someone very close to me, and the first time I was with someone when they passed. It was a huge honor and a blessings. I have been riding the waves of grief and gratitude, joy and sadness since his death, and I have especially noticed what a huge energetic shift it is when you lose one of your parents. I have experienced the amazing gift of getting to have the time to say goodbye to someone you love before they die, and the sense of loss that remains even with a “good” death. Below I share two of my intimate writings around my own process: One I wrote to my Dad to honor him, and another I wrote after his death about my experience. I hope that these words will inspire you to love more fully, make amends as needed, and deepen your own awe at the dance of life and death as we move towards Winter Solstice.

Blessed Holy Days; remember that EVERY day is sacred!

Visit his memorial page at http://www.spiritualintegrity.com/hablog/dadmemorialpage.html

-- Heather Ash



Dad,

One of my first memories of you is as the one who saved me from the
scary monkey when I was around five or six. We were in some botanical
garden (Singapore?), and as would continue to happen in years to
come, my curiosity brought me closer than I really needed to be. The
caged monkey must have spotted a potential treat, or a way to
entertain itself; it grabbed my hair through its cage and started
pulling. I screamed bloody murder, you dropped your video camera and
came running to save me.

You would come to my rescue many times in the years to come, When I
was a little older (or maybe even younger, since we learned to swim
so early) I remember swimming in a public pool, splashing around with
my green waterwings wrapped around my forearms. I went to sit at the
edge of the pool and suddenly had a brilliant (in my mind only)
inspiration: if the wings would keep me afloat to swim, then if I put
them around my feet I could walk on water! With great glee and pride
at my brilliance I took the triangle-shaped puffs of air, pulled them
around my ankles, and stepped onto the blue surface of the water. I
was horribly disappointed to find myself upside down under water, and
I assume that you were again the one to drop everything and get me
out of another precarious situation.

I loved how much time we spent in the water when we lived in
Singapore and Hong Kong, and I have many happy memories of us on our
junk, you as captain, traveling out to open sea where Christy and I
jumped off the roof and swam for hours.

You were always there for me throughout my childhood; coming to our
horseback riding events, watching me at track meets, sitting
patiently at the Olympics while we oowed and aawed over dressage
details that made no sense to you. I remember our "forced marches"
when we went to Europe and you wanted to make sure that we saw every
church and museum. Christy and I only wanted to play in the parks or
jump on the beds in our many hotel rooms. But to this day I do have a
great love of both old cathedrals and museums, I'm sure imparted by
you and your love of architecture and history.

I remember the incredible stress you were under when a co-worker of
yours was shot in his car after both you and he were threatened by a
disgruntled employee in Thailand. We were on summer vacation in the
United States, and you had to decide if we would go back or not. We
did go back, and to make sure we were safe you had a huge fence built
around the house and we were carefully chaperoned to work each day,
while you sometimes took two different cars to work.

You were always fiercely dedicated to your work, and to each factory
and the people within them. You mentored so many people and touched
the lives of thousands of workers, making sure that they received
good wages and proper time off. You were always very respectful of
their customs and beliefs, and went far out of your way to learn
them. Both you and mom were so open-minded and curious about how
other people thought and lived, and both Christy and I soaked this up
from you.

In my exuberant way I wanted to be a million things when I grew up.
Once I came to you, thrilled to share, "I want to be a stewardess!"
It seemed the perfect job for me. Your comment was, "Heather, a
stewardess is only a glorified waitress." I was crushed for a while,
and soon realized you were right. This proved true about my dream to
be a veterinary, which you did not share my excitement and I soon
grew out of. But you did always support me in the one thing I had
loved doing since I was a child: writing.

I wrote what I thought was a fabulous entrance letter to my college
of choice, UC Davis. I am sure you encouraged me to apply to
different schools, but I also inherited your determination and
stubborn streak, so I only applied to the one I wanted. Turns out I
was rejected, and you came to my rescue again, writing to the
administration to convince them that they should let me into the
school based on my being a resident of California since we owned a
house there and paid property taxes. Amazing how you turned that
around! And then paid for out of state tuition for a year until I got
my residency. I am so grateful for your support of me during college
so I did not have to work. We had some rocky times as I individuated,
and we had some heated political and socio-economic debates in those
early years, which I sometimes think you missed as I got older and
lost my political fire in favor of spiritual endeavors. We rarely
agreed on politics, and I know many times you wondered what the hell
I was doing with my life, and I am grateful that you supported me
despite my inconsistencies and sometimes wacky choices. I loved when
you and mom came with Gini and I to Peru, and when you both attended
a firewalk with me. You always gave me good life and business
advance, most of which I needed to go out and learn the hard way. But
I did learn, and you were always a great influence, whether it
appeared that you were having an impact or not on your eldest daughter.

Some of my favorite stories about you:

How you and your brothers loved basketball and all sports, and you
would play on anyone's team, changing your last name to fit in with
the Irish or German or whatever nationality was playing.

How you grew up speaking French and English and going to Catholic
school, but you always encouraged Christy and I to choose our own
connection to God.

How you chose to drive to California in your little sports car when
you were in your early twenties, not having a job but determined you
would get one when you got there. Which of course you did. I also
love that when you came to visit me years later in California, the
publishing company where I worked was literally around the corner
from the place you had worked twenty or so years earlier! Genetics!

How you showed up to pick up mom and take her to Las Vegas to get
married on December 31, 1965 when she thought you were going to pick
her up on January 1rst, 1966. You calmly told us: I know it was
December 31rst because I wanted the tax break. You were always very
practical.

How in Thailand when the company bought a new piece of land and you
heard about women going into hysterics and hearing voices that the
spirit needed a temple you called in your people to figure out what
was going on and narrowed it down to the fact that the new land did
not have a spirit temple. You had a big one built and called the
priests in to bless everything, and peace was restored.

How you and mom agreed to send me wherever I wanted to go for a month
one summer while you were in the States. I was about nineteen or
twenty at the time. You were hoping that I would want to go to Spain
to practice my Spanish; I wanted to go to Nepal and India. Despite
your misgivings you sent me on what was one of the most pivotal
journeys of my life. I spent the time wandering around the old
temples of Nepal, breathing in the peace and spirit there. I took a
bus towards the Himalayas and saw Annapurna. I watched Hindu rituals,
went for long walks in the rain, and loved being on my own. Towards
the end of my stay there was a huge earthquake in Kathamandu, which
killed hundreds of people. I didn't know it at the time, but you were
terrified that I had been killed by the earthquake, and when I got
off the plane to meet you in India, you gave me a hug I will never
forget. Though you often had a difficult time sharing your emotions,
that embrace said it all.

Which leads to my favorite story of you, that took place in a hotel
in Bombay. I was in my heavy political phase at the time, wearing
flowered skirts and ragged, hand-me-down t-shirts and believing that
most of the world's evil was the fault of multi-national corporations
and the greed of capitalism. You were looking out the window of the
hotel, staring down at a small village below. You said," When I stay
here, I always ask for this room." My mind was saying something
about, "See, the bourgeois patriarchal white male looks down from his
kingdom at the peasants below, a pleasant view." I walked over to
look out the window and you said quietly, "I watched this village for
a while and realized that the people did not have running water, and
the woman had to walk a couple of miles to get water. So I paid to
have someone sink two wells right there." My cocky self-righteousness
and distain for wealth took a big hit that day, thankfully never to
recover.

You shared two stories with me recently about your parents: one was a
memory of sitting in the kitchen with your mother, keeping her
company while she cooked (Mom says, no wonder you were her favorite!)
and one about Pa. Apparently the neighborhood kids had discovered the
joys of playing with gunpowder; taking your father's bullets and
throwing them to the ground for the explosion. One day your Dad
confronted you, asking if you had been stealing his bullets, and you
lied. He smacked you hard, and you got a good lesson in never lying
to him again, and not messing with dangerous things.

You were always wonderful with your parents, and we visited them
every year. You gave me good role model of honoring family and
helping when times got rough. I am grateful I've had the opportunity
to spend time with you and get to know you better through both your
prostate cancer and the leukemia. You continually show yourself to be
incredibly courageous, determined, and positive. When I asked you
what your advice to someone with cancer is, you told me, 'Keep
going." And you have kept going, through so many hurdles and
difficulties.

When my teacher don Miguel had his heart attack many years ago and
was in a coma for three months I learned a valuable lesson. I
realized that even though I had not gotten to say goodbye to him, I
knew without a doubt that he loved me. And I also knew without a
doubt that he knew that I loved him. And so I felt at peace, that our
hearts were full of each other. I feel the same way with you Dad. I
know you love me, and I know you know I love you. Thank you for that
gift in my life, it is precious.

Five days ago or so you were eating pizza and joking with your
brothers Leo and Richard; today you spend most of your time sleeping
and on morphine for the pain in your back. It appears that you are
now actively dying, but we all know that at any moment you could sit
up and say "When is my football game on?" We don't put anything past
you! If you wanted to, we all know you could hold on longer. But I
know you are tired, and ready to go on to the next place, and want it
to be a quick transition. You have fought an amazing battle, and I am
so grateful for the extra two years that we all spent together as a
family: for getting to share my wedding to Raven with you (you told
me that day, "This is a moment I have been waiting for for forty
years!"); for the sweet moments of playing dominoes at Christy's
kitchen table last December, of talking with you on the phone, of
going for drives in the car or pushing you around the park in your
wheelchair, of listening to stories and getting to know you better. I
love that last week you got to go for a ride in Christy's new
convertible.

I don't know if you will be able to read this letter, but I do know
that the feelings of my heart are echoed in yours, and it is
complete. And if this indeed your time my prayer for you is that when
you pass all of your many good deeds are noted and you are embraced
by those who love you from the other side: Nana, Papa, and especially
your older brother Paul, who I know will be eager to see you! I
wonder if you will talk computers?!

You will leave behind many people who have been touched by you, and
many people who love you and will continue to hold you in our hearts.