Thursday, March 1, 2012

A New Appreciation

Sometimes it takes those face-planting, body-slamming life events to get you to change a perspective.

Since my Dad passed away last month, I've come to appreciate a few new things: Hospice, death, time, and living.  Confused? Yeah, so am I.  Still.  But I'm working on it.

Suddenly moving at the speed of sound, my usual mode of operation until about 30 days ago, now doesn't feel right at all.  Wasting time, even five minutes, feels like wearing itchy polyester clothing as opposed to cotton.  I'm not saying anything cheesy like I'm suddenly stopping and smelling the roses but I am beginning to evaluate more closely how I'm spending my time and the choices I'm making. 

Regarding Hospice and hospice care, the people affiliated with Hospice of the Valley here in Phoenix are absolute saints.  Because of them, the last couple of days with Dad were calm and we will be eternally grateful for every minute of those peaceful, dignified moments we had with him.  Hospice, its nurses and doctors, gave us the gift of time and rescued us from a confusing rollercoaster medical nightmare.  I will never be able to thank them enough.

Some day I'll see my wonderful Dad again, of that I'm certain.  I don't expect to ever lose the ache in my heart either.  But till we meet again, I'm going to continue to honor him by making the best of the life I have in front of me.

16 comments:

Alex J. Cavanaugh said...

Liz, that is a beautiful attitude to have! Yes, you will see him again, but that doesn't make it hurt less now.

Karen Walker said...

Hi Liz,
It is so hard to lose someone we love so much. And yes, Hospice is amazing. They were with us when my mother-in-law passed here in our home and they made the journey easier for all of us. Peace be with you.
Karen

Joanne said...

A moving post, Liz, and I love what you're taking and sharing from the difficult days you've just been through. I second Alex, it's a beautiful attitude.

Trisha said...

Amazing post, Liz - I am so glad your family had amazing Hospice people to make it all just a bit easier.

Danette said...

A great way to view it! My favorite quote came from a character who'd lost his wife and he says something very touching as he recalls his beloved, “I got to live for me and share the memory of you and you can live forever.”

Tracy Jo said...

This is beautiful. Liz - I used to be the same way and it took a big slam for me to see it too. I feel blessed that my eyes were opened and I now live a more balanced life. Actually the life that I really wanted. :-) Your Dad is guiding you and I am sure this post made him smile.

Colette Martin said...

Lovely. You will find your way.

Lizz said...

I understand what you are going through and how must feel. Make every day count. Make every moment count. I'm sure your dad is a part of your new path.

Angelina Rain said...

A truly moving post, Liz. I hope you are doing well. *hugs*

Peggy Eddleman said...

I love that attitude! Thank you for the reminder.

And thank heavens for people like those Hospice workers! It's even more amazing to have people like that in your life at such a hard time. They can make all the difference in the world. I'm glad your last days with your dad were so peaceful. What a gift!

raelynbarclay said...

Beautiful attitude Liz. {hugs}

Susan Flett Swiderski said...

You've taken what was probably one of the worst experiences of your life, and found positive lessons in it. Your father would be very proud of you.

MZienty said...

You are your Dad through and through. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. He is with us always and he would be so proud.

Sarah Pearson said...

I hope you're finding some measure of peace. Thinking of you.

Amy Jarecki said...

I think your resolution is the greatest way to honor your father. God bless you.

Amy

James Garcia Jr. said...

Hi, Liz. I've been to some funerals where they wail their poor hearts and eyes out because they do not have that same Blessed Assurance. It's so sad.
I found a sense of perspective this week as well and blogged about it. It began with finding a rather large error in my novel, but ended with perspective as a friend buried his 18 year old daughter.
Now I'm trying to find a much better balance, myself.

-Jimmy