A Gesture

At times I reflect back on some things that happened with Dad. My thoughts are all over the place. Sometimes I remember things that happened long ago. Sometimes it's something that happened only recently. This past week I have been overwhelmed by the memory of something that happened a few days before Dad passed. I went to visit him in the hospital. It was a Saturday and he was with the relief caregiver who, despite his intense desire to please, could never seem to 'get it'. He would do whatever Dad told him and never overrode the requests. So, as time went by, the faux pas became more and more dangerous to Dad. On this Saturday morning, Dad was very ill. He couldn't really speak although he seemed to be trying to tell us things all the time. If I bent my head down close to his mouth I could make out some words. It seemed that this day, Dad may have been coming to the conclusion that he wasn't going to beat this case of pneumonia. It was the day I had to ask him if he wanted specifically chest compressions, intubation and paddles if he were to go into cardiac arrest. But before I asked him that, I was standing next to his bed. And he did something he had never, ever done before, not in any of his illnesses or hospitalizations. He reached his hand up and stroked my right cheek. It was a tender gesture. And in his eyes I could see love. Somehow in that moment all pretenses were dropped. In that moment his eyes told me that he loved me unconditionally, more than any other human, for no other reason than I was me, his child, his firstborn. I was the person with whom he felt the deepest connection. I was someone he loved without hesitation, without exceptions. In that moment I had a shot to the heart. This was why he didn't criticize me. This was why he told me I could do or be anything I wanted. The depths of the emotion I felt at that moment were almost too profound for me to describe, and I find myself grappling for words as I write this now. It was a moment I shall never forget, a moment I was privileged to have, a moment I will treasure forever. It encapsulated sixty-one years of my life as his child. Yes, like my sister says. I was always Dad's favorite.