Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.
Perhaps love is like a resting place, a shelter from the storm, it exists to give you “comfort”, it is there to keep you warm, and in those times of trouble, when you are most alone, the memory of love will bring you home.
For that is the real truth; man is a soul and has a body. The body is not the man; it is only the clothing of the man. What you call death is the laying aside of a worn-out garment, and it is no more the end of the man than it is the end of you when you remove your coat. Therefore you have not lost your friends; you have only lost sight of the cloak in which you were accustomed to see him. The cloak is gone, but the man who wore it is not; Surely it is the man you love and not the garment.
I am convinced that dying is a very sacred time, especially the final days and hours. I realize that at some point in the last couple of weeks my dad was more DYING while living, rather than more LIVING while dying.
Death comes in its own time and in its own way. I came to believe that my dad did choose his own way to die. It was quick and peaceful with me on one side and my sister, Asia on the other. Asia and I were sharing stories of good times that we remember with Tatus (daddy) when we both realized the time came to say our final goodbyes.
As my dad walked closer to the threshold of death, I realized what a profound gift it is to accompany Him on this journey.
I love you, Daddy.
I miss you Dzagio,I love you and will see each other one day in heaven.
Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.
Perhaps love is like a resting place, a shelter from the storm, it exists to give you “comfort”, it is there to keep you warm, and in those times of trouble, when you are most alone, the memory of love will bring you home.
For that is the real truth; man is a soul and has a body. The body is not the man; it is only the clothing of the man. What you call death is the laying aside of a worn-out garment, and it is no more the end of the man than it is the end of you when you remove your coat. Therefore you have not lost your friends; you have only lost sight of the cloak in which you were accustomed to see him. The cloak is gone, but the man who wore it is not; Surely it is the man you love and not the garment.
I am convinced that dying is a very sacred time, especially the final days and hours. I realize that at some point in the last couple of weeks my dad was more DYING while living, rather than more LIVING while dying.
Death comes in its own time and in its own way. I came to believe that my dad did choose his own way to die. It was quick and peaceful with me on one side and my sister, Asia on the other. Asia and I were sharing stories of good times that we remember with Tatus (daddy) when we both realized the time came to say our final goodbyes.
As my dad walked closer to the threshold of death, I realized what a profound gift it is to accompany Him on this journey.
I love you, Daddy.
Rick, I am sorry to hear about your father. My condolences to your family.