Notes of Substance

Robert Munro Sublet 5.3.36-1.11-15 A few years ago, when dad was home alone facing what he felt at the time was a medical emergency, he began to write us an email. He thought his time was up. The subject line was: Time on, final quarter... As happened many times with dad, that time he defied the odds and got to play on! Dad was eternally optimistic about his situation when it came to medical issues. Maybe it was more pure stubbornness or defiance-he was never going gentle into that good night. He certainly wanted to rage rage against the dying of the light.  He never complained. He didn't bemoan his situation, nor moan about pain. At times he grimaced, as if he were trying to deal with a jolt of electricity to his limbs. Once I thought he was groaning about the antics of us kids, getting progressively noisier and more drunk as we downed another bottle of red. No, he wasn't annoyed at us, of course he never was! He was in pain, but sometimes we hadn't k

Somewhere between here and there, as we raced home to see him, Dad passed across the line. We were airborne. I was dreaming. In the dream, I framed objects in the foreground for a photo, then noticed that Dad's cheeky smiling eye loomed across the picture from the top corner. I awoke mid-flight. This was the time of his passing. I felt rested and calm. Thanks for all the steady care and love over the years to my beautiful father. I know he could hear me when we communicated on the phone from LA airport. He knew we were on our way back to see him. Xxoo Postscript: I hope there will be many more words I write about Arfur. These were the very first ones I formulated after landing and finding that we had not made it back in time.