Fourteen years ago today, my father drew his last breath and embarked upon a great
adventure.
After thirty-eight years trapped in a body weakened by multiple sclerosis, he found
release.
After fourteen years as an invalid who required total nursing home care, he was
independent once more.
After ten years of not recognizing his children, he could once again say our names.
After five years too weak to shoot the breeze with friends, his voice returned.
Fourteen years ago today, the man who modeled so many precious lessons about life
drew his last breath.
I remember
how he lived with dignity in the face of lost dreams,
found humor in a situation others defined as tragic,
refused to become embittered by his lost health.
I remember
how his twinkling eyes eased the discomfort of those put off by his wheelchair,
how his weak legs reminded others to cherish their ability to walk,
how his faith found confirmation in the sweetness of his spirit.
I remember
how peaceful his body looked as his breathing stopped,
how still it lay upon his bed.
I remember the truth that flooded my soul fourteen years ago today.
His grand adventure has begun.
My father is walking again.
In memory of Harlan John Stratton: May 11, 1929 – March 4, 1997.
