Three years ago today my dad passed away. There are few people with whom I have shared the details of his last days.

When my dad asked to come home on hospice he told my mom he had a week to live. Of course we didn’t want to believe that, but let’s be honest, he always knew best when it came to what was going on with his body and his health. That drive home from University of Chicago was one of the most frightening. He was on oxygen and I was responsible for switching out the tanks (with very little instruction, mind you). And when you’re scared and sad and angry even the simplest things become daunting. But I am like my mom in that I have the ability to flip into caregiver mode – I push my emotions aside and power through.

We took 55 home that day and, for whatever reason, the Ozinga Cement Plant caught my attention and still does each time I pass it. My guess is the moment I looked up from switching out the oxygen tank that’s what I saw.

My mom and I got my dad home in one piece. And when he walked through the door he was transformed. They tell you this when you bring a loved home on hospice – there is a rally period – and my dad sure had a great one! And even though I knew better, I think I even convinced myself for a quick minute he was going to get better. How wonderful it was – he got to cuddle his kittens, watch his TV, and be near those he loved most.

The point at which I realized this was it was when he did not want help to go upstairs to take a shower. Oh I how I wish we had had a shower on the first floor. It’s funny some of the things you remember about your parents, but my dad loved his showers.

There is a book, a very short book, hospice suggests you read about what things might be like at the end. Some of it was very scary and unpleasant. Luckily for my dad he experienced very few of those things even after his rally. He was coherent and with it until his last hour. And for that I was incredibly thankful. Of course I never ever wanted him to go, but it brings me peace knowing I was there with him, by his side, loving him with all my might.

Something a friend of mine posted a few days ago really resonated with me: grief doesn’t leave us; it just morphs and becomes another layer in the love we wrap ourselves in. Today, his birthday, father’s day these will all be difficult days for me and, though I am very sad, it is a time for me to reflect, remember, love, and let the tears flow if when they come.

I love you always, Dad.