My dad died on March 5, 2023. I don’t know how to process this, or how it is all supposed to make sense. In a whirlwind, I flew to Ontario…to sit with him and my mom, to try and make sense of a world in which my father no longer inhabited. To watch my father struggle, and in the end, begging that he just let go…words that seem so strange to say and yet the most loving thing I ever could have done for him.
While I was going back and forth to the hospital, I’d come home and start to pen a line or two of this tribute. I had no strength to finish it in the early days following his death. But I knew it needed to be finished before I stood before my family and his friends, and led us all through the collective process of grief and letting go, in celebration of his life. The words came fast and in a fury, the tears were hot and seared my soul.
Rattle – March 10, 2023
A rattle, a shaken toy for babies that
Elicits a chorus of gleeful squeals
A small solace for tired parents to know
Something so simple can comfort their child
A rattle, a sound so basic, a vibration of sorts
Things crackled against the walls inside a toy
I like to think you played with me dad
Shook the toy, and delighted in my squeals
Felt the spot between your shoulders relax
Knowing you helped ease my discomfort
But I know a different rattle now, its forever changed me
A sound, still so basic: a vibration, crackled inside an object
But this isn’t a toy, these are your lungs
There is no delight here, no gleeful squeals of wonder
Only deep dread, and a sadness I never knew existed
A shockwave that reverberates even now.
I like to think dad you delighted in me
While I held your hand, and passed you coffee
Somehow the tension eased between your shoulders
Knowing I was there to try to lessen your discomfort
I’ll be Grannie one day, and return to innocent new life
Delighted squeals of laughter as we play together
And yet my children will suffer this same upheaval
When my rattle moves inward, and they comfort me
And the vibration in my lungs evokes dread in them.
Oh to be back, to simpler times when a rattle was just a toy
When the sound evoked happiness, and not sadness
The redemption of something so simple seems to be out of grasp
The hope one day, a rattle will once again be just a toy, is futile.
A rattle is innocently convoluted
Moving from delightful to frightful
Resounding joy to languishing sighs.
Life holds all things in tension
The cycle unceasing: life begins, life ends.