That Thin Line

Original post: March 30, 2021. Edited. These were my thoughts after Dad passed.

My father passed away at 12:30 pm. Life support was removed at 12:23. He was on his own for a mere seven minutes. The hospital staff was beyond gracious. They kept Dad comfortable and pain free as he crossed that thin line between here and there. The three most important women in Dad’s life were by his side. His wife of 22 years, my sister, and me.

There is a very thin line between life and death. I witnessed this firsthand. We take for granted the abilities of our body to work as it was designed. We take for granted the nutrition found in the food we eat, the water needed for every bodily function, beginning at the cellular level, and the clean air we need to oxygenate our blood. Without any one of these, we cross that thin line.

Sometimes we walk that line; challenging it, testing it, teasing it. We don’t realize the fragility of the body and spirit. We were designed in such a way that our bodies will fight its hardest to survive. But sometimes that’s simply not enough anymore.

My dad wasn’t ready to go. He was caught completely off guard and not at all prepared. Dad spent six weeks in three different ICU’s. He kept telling me not to come down yet. I should not have listened to him. But he never once doubted he was going to get better. And he was so looking forward to his big 80th birthday bash in October. But things don’t always go according to our own plans, or our desires. From a distance, that line appears to be quite broad, but the reality of it is this: there’s a very thin line between here and there.

My heart is in pain. My eyes burn from endless tears. My body aches from fatigue. And I want to go home. I have much to sort out, reflect upon, and think about. Life is so very short. And that line between here and there is even thinner than I ever imagined.

I miss my dad. 💔


6 thoughts on “That Thin Line

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