On January 22, 2022, my Dad died. My theme, “Letters to my Dad” is based on random thoughts about him and the aftermath of not having him around anymore.
Hey Dad,
The sound of the zipper of the body bag they placed you in…
I don’t remember the sound of it being zipped up but the grandkids do.
I heard them talking about it again not too long ago – how they still can’t stand the sound of any zipper, the fact that the sound triggers their pain, how it still resonates in their head.
Some of them wanted to be present when you passed but we only let them come right afterwards.
We knew that you wouldn’t want the image of you taking your last breaths to be etched in their memories.
We knew that you would have preferred for them to see you as if you were simply peacefully sleeping.
You must have been soooo proud at how all the kids insisted on following behind the van that took your body away. They trailed behind you and that van all the way to the funeral home just so they could remain connected to you for a little while longer. Even little three month old T, the newest member of the team, your first and only great-grandchild joined in for the ride-along.
Was it a convoy of 7 or 8 cars? I don’t remember.
What I do remember is feeling the warmth in my heart for what they did and the loving respect they showed you. They loved you to bits.
Until those men arrived to take you away, I sat by your side, kissed your face and kept whispering my thoughts into your ear. All those who were in that livingroom probably thought that after so many months of taking care of you, I had finally lost my marbles. And the fact that I wasn’t hysterically crying likely threw them for a loop too.
I guess I surprised them and myself too.
When it was finally time for them to take your body away, I followed you out to the street with no winter coat on and supervised as they gently placed you in the back of their van and closed the doors.
When the kids asked if I wanted to ride along for their procession, I said no.
They didn’t know what you and I know.
You and I both know that though your body might have been taken away, the colorful essence of your true spirit was still present and strong in that livingroom, in that house and with me – where your presence was, has always been and where it will always remain.
Dad, I miss you fiercely but I always feel better knowing that your spirit is ever-present.
Loving you always,
M
Marquessa 
❤
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❤️💜
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When my dad died I felt that too. That his soul had left the vessel and I hugged his portrait and looked upwards at the funeral – I was totally numb. So sorry for your loss and thank you for sharing. Often I feel alone in my grief and that no one around me in real life will get it.
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I am so sorry that you went through cancer too. My heart aches whenever I hear of someone who has been through cancer. It is so so hard. I was like a walking zombie at the funeral while orchestrating everything. I too often feel like no gets it except for my brothers. It’s just sad.
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I feel like it’s so hard on the loved on as well. I always felt guilty about the burden I placed on them. But also very grateful and loved. You only discover who truly love you at times like this.
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Illness definitely separates the authentic from superficial people.
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So true. ❤
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❤️
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I’ve never experienced a person–especially a loved one–being zipped into a body bag. Your description was tough for me to imagine. I was at my father’s bedside when he died in a hospital bed. It was a weird and yet freeing moment that I’ll never forget.
Arlee Bird
Tossing It Out
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Yes, to know that someone is no longer in pain is freeing but never having them around again is like the catch 22.
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