"Once you choose hope, anything's possible. " Christopher Reeves
My father was very sick before he passed away in the wee hours of a cold January morning nearly five
years ago. During the last month of his life, he either spent a lot of time in
the hospital (due to several bouts of pneumonia related to his COPD) or at the
dialysis center (due to his failing kidneys). He was very sick.
The doctor’s discharged him from the hospital two days before he died because
he was doing a little better. They would have preferred he go to a
rehabilitation center but my mom wanted him home. I sat with him the day before
he died while my mom went to pick up some medicine for him. He told me, while
we ate lunch, that he was not that sick and that he would be driving again very
soon. He said it so emphatically as if he knew something I didn’t.
Not only was he convinced that he would be driving very soon (something he hadn’t been able to do for months before he passed) but he would
also be fixing cars again (as he loved to do) and going on trips with my mom. I tried to tell him
that he probably wouldn’t be doing those things but he didn't want to hear it.
His dismissal of my realistic viewpoint annoyed me somewhat.
I've always prided myself on being a realist, one who is able
to accept things as they are, no matter what the circumstance, and I knew that
my father wasn’t going to get better. I also knew that he, most likely, would
never drive again. I felt that he should face that reality but in the end decided
not push the issue.
My father wasn’t a gambling man, and he only played the
lottery when the hype of a big jackpot created buzz and excitement drawing
everyone out to buy tickets. Nonetheless, he loved the Publisher’s Clearing House Sweepstake. As
far back as I can remember, he would fill out the entry forms a couple of times
a year and we would have fun imagining Ed McMahan coming to the door to tell us
we’d won. The day before he died, after
we’d had lunch, he filled out his last form.
The next morning, as the funeral home came to remove his
body, the Publisher’s Clearing House envelope, stamped and ready to be mailed,
sat on the counter. I stared at it, almost feeling sorry for him, as I remembered the last few moments I had with
my dad when he was so convinced he’d be healthy, driving, and fixing cars again very soon.
And then, it hit me.
He hadn’t been in denial. He had been hopeful.
He hadn't allowed me to ruin his hope with my realistic take
on his illness. He needed to believe that he would be better soon. Maybe
because he could feel his death was imminent, and perhaps it was easier to imagine a
life doing the things he loved rather than focus on the uncertainty of death. Maybe he believed in the power of postive thinking. Who knows? What I do know is that his
optimism, his hope, helped make his last few hours on earth happy ones.
It was then that I realized you could be a realist and be optimistic
too. See, hope is an attitude. It’s an expectation that things will be all
right. It doesn’t mean you get to choose how those things get better but you must
believe that whatever you are expereincing will pass, and brighter days will be ahead.
No matter what you’re going through - death of a loved one,
loss of a job, dissolution of a marriage, etc. - you need hope. And if you can’t
see it, you must let others see it for you. Sometimes, just knowing that someone
else made it through a similar difficult time is enough. Then, hang on to that
hope because life will, and does, always
get better.
As I put the Publisher’s Clearing House envelope in the
mailbox the morning my dad died, I imagined him up in heaven in a 1954 Chevy. I
saw his arm hanging out the driver’s side window, a pack of smokes rolled up in
the sleeve of his white t-shirt, and a smile stretched across his face as he
drove past me and waved.
My father passed away believing that everything would be all right. He imagined all the things that made him happy and, I believe, he truly felt those things would happen. I also believe they did.
(image found on Pinterest)
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