Everybody hails a hero:
the hard worker who overcomes odds
and rises from the ashes of poverty;
the parent who provides for, protects children;
the voice who stands up against
bullying, violence;
the advocate for the needy;
the vet who has marched or flown
or sailed in harm’s way to preserve democracy;
the altruist who gives, shares, cares,
principled, honest, respectful,
breathing in mere air, but exhaling goodness;
and finally, the person who relinquishes life with dignity,
acceptance, knowing it was full, rich, loving.
My father’s story was remarkable for his heroic acts.
But perhaps the most inspiring
was the very moment when he intuited
his journey was at its end.
The moment when he sighed, and
with the last breath he would ever take, he intoned softly:
Oh, well.
Two words, uttered at the finale
with no way to query:
Tell me, Dad, what do you mean?
Two words, ripe for interpretation.
Two fruits waiting to be picked, held, smelled.
Two words, whose meaning I had to infer
based on inflection, facial clues.
Two words that struck me as surrender.
Surrender of a courageous spirit
to nature’s demanding cycle.
Two words alluding to the implicit pact
we all make when accepting the gift of life.
In his face, I first saw doubt and then resignation.
Followed by words of tranquility, understanding.
As he passed, he pressed his teachings into my palm.
One crowning project to fulfill:
scatter wisdom and watch it bloom.
Lynn Benjamin
May 22, 2018
