On Friday, the Dia de los Muertos, my dad ate a good breakfast and sat down to watch some TV. Shortly thereafter, without fuss or fanfare, his heart just stopped beating.
We are surprised that the end came so soon; relieved that it came so gently; joyful that his spirit is no longer shackled to that malfunctioning depleted 120-pound body; and of course sad that he really and truly is gone.
And if I am honest, I'm a little nervous, too, because I know that now he probably can see every little grammatical error I make here. My spelling seems to be going to pot, too (sorry about that misspelled place name I failed to catch in the obituary).
Be kind with thine angelic red pen, Dad, enjoy the pictures, and (fingers crossed) I'll see you in my dreams.
I took the first four photos in this post while gathering cypress cones at the cemetery, moments before Dad unexpectedly passed away. The last photo is of Dad and Big Lad, from New Year's 1999.