Reflections on a Life

My father died on Tuesday, May 4. He was 94 and had been in steep decline after a coronary five weeks earlier. He went peacefully, at home, in his sleep.

But two weekends ago Dad marshaled his strength to be with us when we celebrated Mom's 90th birthday. My sisters and their kids/grandkids were there. Mom's brother Fred and his wife came up from Miami. They brought a video taken years earlier showing Dad and his sister playing Christmas carols at a family gathering in Florida. He played his violin, and she the piano. Our late Uncle Jim was in the video too, carrying on with his siblings and telling stories ("embellishments and lies," Fred says with a twinkle). Although Dad couldn't see the images on the screen, he could hear the anecdotes, the laughter, and the music. His fine tenor voice was weak, but he joined in the chorus on some of the songs. He delighted being among four generations of his family.

This turned out to be the last hurrah. A few days later he took to bed and basically did not get up again. On Sunday last, realizing that he was hanging on for her sake, Mom and I gave him permission; we told him it was "okay to go." He said, "You mean, 'to die'?" Mom said, "Yes, it's okay." Some 36 hours later, he went sailing peacefully from our sight. Surely other eyes are now watching him coming and other voices are ready to take up the glad shout, "Here he comes!"

Though understandably tired, my mother has been an emotional pillar--a fortress--for the past weeks. She made all the tough decisions. Whenever hospice or home care folks called, my sister and I would say, "Check with her; she's the boss." She is a Smith/Showalter after all: always in control, always aware, always caring and giving. The motto is: "Ever onward!"

My Pennsylvania sister returned again yesterday and will stay through Sunday, Mother's Day. We will all then celebrate a wonderful mother who chose a wonderful father for us and was with him for a honeymoon that lasted  more than 67 years. It doesn't get much better than that.

In recent days I have thought often of a certain line from Shakespeare. When King Lear dies, the Earl of Kent tells Edgar to let him go. Shakespeare puts it this way:

Vex not his ghost; O, let him pass! He hates him much
That would upon the rack of this tough world
Stretch him out longer.

Then Edgar concludes the play with this quatrain:

    The weight of this sad time we must obey,
    Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
    The oldest hath borne most; we that are young
    Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

Amen, and Amen!