The second greatest day of my life

I was in my bedroom when she called my name. My mother was standing at the foot of the stairs. And she was falling apart.

Through her tears she told me that, before going to bed, my dad had told her he didn’t think he would live to my sister’s wedding two months later, that he felt the cancer was winning and the end was near.

We went downstairs and sat on the couch, for the first time in my life (although not nearly the last) I held her as she sobbed; the feelings she’d buried deep inside finally overflowing, out of character for a woman so strong and in control. Dad heard us and came downstairs. He stood at the door of the living room looking small and lost. The woman he loved more than his own life was falling apart, and she had called out to me instead of him. Because, through the years of his illness, the years of them being strong for each other, they had unintentionally grown apart.

He sat on the chair across the room in obvious discomfort. When he finally spoke he said he didn’t realize she cared so much, he thought she’d already let go. She had gotten into the habit of crying out on the patio after he was asleep. She didn’t know that, in trying to be strong, she appeared to be disconnected.

I realized at that moment why I was there. Why I had left my home and my career to move thousands of miles from the west to the east. I was their link, I was there to bring them together again.

Eventually he moved to the sofa and I sat between them. We talked about the end of his life and what it meant. I played the roll of mediator; how do you feel about this, what will happen after that, perhaps we should consider rescheduling, maybe we need to get ready to say goodbye.

The night ended with them holding each other as they cried, and I retreated once again to my bedroom. The walls had come down and they found the words that had been lost in the silence of strength and getting things done.

All of us changed after that. There was more laughter and more tears. He lived to walk my little sister down the aisle. He lived to see his and my mother’s 44th wedding anniversary and his 67th birthday. He lived to be my dad, wondering how Mom would ever learn to buy groceries without him sitting in the parking lot, fuming because she was taking so long. He lived to teach me the right way to mow the lawn and return the recyclables. He lived to say good-bye, to give away his prized possessions, to swear that the next time he had a terminal illness, he would make sure he was gone before the hot weather came.

And there was my mother. Still in control but with a new empathy that had been buried before. There was my mother, smiling, telling him to shut up and take his drugs already. There was him taking those drugs, prolonging a life he was ready to turn from. For her. There was love. Open and honest love. Between us all. Finally.

The greatest day of my life was the day I held his hand for 10 hours or more so I knew that he knew he wasn’t alone, my father turned to me suddenly and the light left his eyes. The second greatest day of my life was the day I brought my parents together again, the day I reminded them that feelings - even feelings that made you cry - are better shown than hidden.