A Child’s Love
I want to say, right up front, that as I re-read the original writing of this post, from 2013, the tears were flowing and I allowed myself to cry loud and long. Apparently, my grief from loss has not fully released…and that is just fine.
I realize I am also crying over the loss of getting to go to visit my daughter and grandchildren this past October when I fell and sustained injuries. My heart was broken, especially because not only was I deeply disappointed about not being able to spend time with my almost 8 year granddaughter and celebrate her birthday, I knew how disappointed she would be.
The Final Journey
When the doctor told my husband he had only a few weeks or months to live, we drove 1100 miles to stay with our daughter and her family.
A short time after our arrival, my husband enrolled in a hospice program there and proceeded to spend his remaining days visiting friends and spending time with the family.
My granddaughter, Miranda, was 5 at the time. She adored John, and the feeling was mutual.
While we were staying in my daughter’s home, Miranda would come to our room every evening, approach John’s bed, stand on tip toes, and kiss him goodnight. Each morning she would come to our room and say, in her delightful, joy-filled, way, ‘How did you sleep, Papa John?’ She didn’t seem to be fazed at all by his physical and mental decline. He was still her ‘Papa John.’
It has been 2 and 1/2 years since my husband died and I still cry as I write these words and recall her precious interactions with him. She would enter the room like a ray of sunshine and John’s face would light up. She was an angelic presence for both of us. My tears are elicited by the recall of beautiful, pure moments in the midst of a nightmare.
When John entered the residential hospice Miranda visited with my daughter and sat next to the bed.
She was totally her loving, joyful, self, seemingly untouched by the situation. The next day he began to deteriorate more rapidly and was minimally responsive.
Miranda not only came in the room that final day, she sat in my daughter’s lap and placed her hand on John’s arm. She then turned to her mother and asked if she could kiss him. ‘Yes, of course, you can.’ , my daughter replied.
With my daughter’s assistance, Miranda leaned in, kissed him and said, ‘I love you, Papa John.’ I am in tears again, recalling those sacred moments and taking in again the miracle of love.
John passed away peacefully about 5 hours later. I am confident he made his transition knowing how deeply he, in his essence, was loved.
Donna Harmony-Jones RN, BSN, HNB-BC, CHTP
Our little great grandson was like this with his papi. Now he says papi lives in his heart with Jesus!
aww, Little children know the Truth!