The Light of The Soul

I’ll never forget this week three years ago; it is burned into my head in a way that is not normal for me (my memory is not so hot).   But, in this case, I remember conversations, peoples’ eyes, specific strangers, but mostly, I remember my Dad for it was this week, three years ago, that my Dad passed away.

That week started like an ordinary week at that time.  The EMT’s came to my house to take my Dad for his Monday dialysis treatment.  He did not want to go.  As my Dad had become weaker toward the end of his illness, he still showed signs of his prior strength from time to time; this Monday morning was one of those times.  He was telling us he was done with dialysis and he adamantly refused to go.  My Mom pleaded with him, I pleaded with him, we argued with him, and then we cried together as they strapped him into a wheelchair and lifted the chair, with him in it, out of the house and into the ambulance and on to the dialysis unit. 

Not long after the ambulance drove away, my Mom received a call from my Dad’s doctor that my Dad wasn’t feeling well and that they were not going to do his dialysis treatment. Instead of treatment, they were sending him, via ambulance, to the hospital.  The doctor continued by telling us he did not see dialysis as a beneficial treatment for my Dad any longer. Patients have a way of telling the world when they are finished, he said, even in their otherwise not totally coherent state.  My Mom and I knew he was saying it was time to let him go, but this was not something we were ready to think about.

Once my Mom was off the telephone with the doctor, she and I ran out of the house and drove hurriedly to the emergency room to meet my Dad when he arrived.  I have already told the story of his time in the hospital that week.  We met with “end of life” specialists and listened more intently, with more awareness and openness than I would have thought possible.  The doctors took time and spoke with us about my father’s care and where we were in his treatment.  Once the decision to stop dialysis was made, after talking with my brothers, they could only keep my Dad in the hospital for a few days.  During that time, it was surprising how well he seemed.  With the nurse, we sang show tunes, with a hearty appetite; he enjoyed eating the foods he had been forbidden to eat for so long, (feeding my Dad carrots from his tray was unbelievable, he enjoyed every mouthful as if it was the most awesomely prepared cuisine!)  We watched the winter Olympics, he enjoyed visits from his grandchildren and he spoke on the phone to my brothers with clarity and strength.  It was as if he was getting better, stronger, as if he felt more alive than he had in years.  He was coherent, funny, and strong and for a few days it seemed as he used to be.  A lovely religious representative stopped by one afternoon.  She told us she was on her way to Israel and asked if we would like to give her a note of prayer to place in the Wailing Wall.  My Mom and I wrote a prayer of hope and gratitude, which she tucked into her purse and took with her to Israel. 

After visiting with the hospice organization near our home, we were confident with the people, not so confident with the surroundings.  Hastily, on the day my Dad was released from the hospital, we arranged for hospice in my home.  Our family gathered together that day.  My Dad was with all of us, and he even visited via Skype with my brother in Florida.  Before going to sleep my Dad said he loved us all.  At 3:22 AM he passed away.

That was three years ago this week.  Three years since I have had the chance to hug my Dad.  But, when I now think of my Dad, I usually don’t think of those last years, I remember my Dad when he was strong, my protector.

I don’t know, one way or the other, if the soul and the spirit are real or if I just wish they were, but last night certainly helps me believe.  As I said, this week marks three years since my Dad passed away, but yesterday was his actual Yahrzeit.  For those that aren’t Jewish, Yahrzeit marks the anniversary of the death of a loved one and it is tradition to light a candle in remembrance. The candle is lit and burns for 24 hours until it burns out; the flame is symbolic for the human soul.  This connection comes from the Book of Proverbs (chapter 20 verse 27), which states:  “The soul of man is the candle of G-d.” 

It is said that the flames, like a human soul, must breath, grow, change and fight against darkness only to eventually fade away.  In this way, the flame of the burning Yahrzeit candle reminds us that life is fragile and must be protected, embraced, and cherished while we remember our loved ones.

I lit my Yahrzeit candle for my Dad at sundown, as did my Mom, who lives with us.  My candle burned out almost to the minute of 24 hours.  However, my Mom’s burned for an additional twelve hours, keeping her room lit all through the next night.  My Mom insisted it was my Dad’s spirit shining his light for her. 

Unbeknownst to me, while her Yahrzeit candle was continuing to burn far longer than it should, I was having dream after dream of my father.  In my dreams he kept repeating three life lessons that he wanted me to remember.  I kept repeating the three in my dream, I would wake up, fall back to sleep, return to the same dream and once again hear the three life lessons.  When I woke for the day, the dream was still in my mind and as I showered I could recite the three life lessons, two of which I remember him telling me throughout my life, one was new and honestly something I don’t remember him telling me in real life.

The first of the three lessons is one he continually told me as I was growing up. He would sit with me and tell me how I could always know right from wrong when I was not with him.  He would say, “Always remember, if someone asks you to do something, think to yourself…could I tell my father about this in the morning?  If yes, then it’s okay, if no then it’s wrong.”  An easy and foolproof method of telling right from wrong that I think of even to this day, even knowing he is no longer physically here to tell.

The second was to always remember that ‘If you’re worried about money, you have no worries.’  He always said that because when really bad things happen, you don’t worry about money, so if money is what you are worried about, be thankful.

Now, the third…the third is something special that my Dad told me last night that I really don’t remember him telling me during his lifetime.  He told me to live life and appreciate the warmth, love and light that every moment provides.  Meanwhile the Yahrzeit candle my Mom lit to honor his memory was shining well beyond the normal time, illuminating her room and brightening her world.

Whether or not that was the spirit of my Dad, I can’t prove, but in my heart I feel it was, I feel him with me as I type these words.  My Dad, who sang Frank Sinatra songs better than Old Blue Eyes himself, my Dad, who was the life of any party and who told a joke better than any comedian, my Dad lit this house last night with his love.  I feel it; I know it and it makes me smile, just as he always did.

I love you, Dad.  Thank you for always being such a shining light in my life.