My dad took a long pause allowing his nostrals to taste the earthy air, opened his eyes and let them come to rest on the sight of his own grave, freshly dug. Next, I saw his eyes moisten and could almost feel his belly freefall as he allowed his mind to bridge the reality gap between his today and what was to soon be his here-after. He took his eyes off the 3 by 8 foot hole in the ground to look my way.
He smiled.
He smiled because he was doing this his way. Isn’t that what we all hope for in death?
This is the true and real story of my family’s loving attention to my dad’s final wishes. My father is terminally ill. He will die. Soon. He has pulmonary fibrosis—the thing that finally took out that greatest of death-teases, Evil Knievel.
With each sunrise Dad loses ground for control over his breathing, thinking and moving, Yet his determination to express his death his own way continues to grow. Continue to see dad's wishes.
About Me
- Mark Butland
- I'm a full-time professor at the local college. I teach people to be better communicators in meetings and public presentations. My consulting business aims to enhance lines of communication.
Here's Lookin' at You, Grave!
Dad stares down into his grave, pleased with himself
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