The Final Journey

I wrote this poem in honor of my father-in-law. Yesterday was his funeral. I think his entire extended family, myself included, is still in shock from his rather sudden passing. We received the news about his diagnosis with late-stage lymphoma earlier this month; my mother-in-law brought him into the clinic after he seemed ill for several days, and that was the unexpected news they received. Almost two weeks ago, he went in for his first round of chemo, but they ended up needing to admit him instead. The nurses told us that his blood pressure was really low and they needed to raise it to proceed with treatment. My husband decided that we should drive down to visit him the next day, so we did. We picked up supplies (like eye drops and mints) that had helped me during chemo and that I thought would help him, too. The boys all drew pictures for him.

My husband’s mom was there, too, at the hospital. He was talking to us a bit, though he did seem very tired and needed help to move. The nurses took him to do a CT scan shortly after we hung up the boys’ artwork across from his bed.

We met up with close friends in the area for a late lunch and then with one of my husband’s sisters and her family before our two-hour drive back home. We encouraged her to visit him. “He needs to see family to help build up his strength,” were our thoughts. The nurses had told us the plan was to restart chemo the following week if they could get his vitals back on track. Instead, we got the call with the worst news from my husband’s mom late the next day.

At the funeral, all six of his children and their families were together, which is something special that doesn’t happen often. We all came back to the family farm afterwards, where the kids played with the sheep and enjoyed watching the horses, pigs, and chickens. My husband said it was like he could hear his dad’s laughter in the background when the adults were all talking together in the house. I think he’ll continue to feel these little reminders or special signs; maybe it’s all part of the grief process. Maybe it helps us to get by.

For whatever reason, this past year has included a lot of mourning. My husband’s maternal grandmother passed away last spring, and then one of his uncles (one of his dad’s brothers) passed away unexpectedly in January. Some of my nieces and nephews who we saw yesterday lost their other grandfather a year ago as well, and we lost another distant family member late last fall. One of my husband’s aunts is planning a family gathering on Memorial Day weekend, and she said, “I hope we don’t have any more funerals between now and then.” Naturally, we all agree.

One thing I couldn’t help but notice yesterday was the joy that children can bring. Despite the sadness, there was still laughter. Small children were passed around and cuddled, especially when someone seemed on the verge of tears. Kids squirmed during mass and ran around afterwards. Our eldest son played Nuvole Bianche on the piano during the dinner after the mass, and so many people seemed touched by the music. Some of the smallest nieces and nephews explored the cemetery, placing flowers and admiring the designs of memorials. With kids, there is always a lot going on: some question to answer or something to help with. Sometimes, this neediness might be a bother, but it was a positive yesterday. I think in those moments of sorrow, we can always hold onto the love that is also present.