This is a such a sad time in my life. The last month has been
impossible to describe. A brief timeline shows my two sisters (Cathy, Nancy and
I) taking a 7-day cruise to the Caribbean with our dad (88-years old). He had a
slight cold, but was still able to dance the jitterbug with me to a merry, two-piece
band. Shore excursions left us all tired and weary, but we loved meeting new
friends and learning new things, as in the past. The meals were very good, but
Dad ate little—oh, except for the molten chocolate cake! His favorite. On the
drive home from Charleston (to Wilmington) Dad was very quiet. We would learn
he slept at home the better of the next two days.
When my brother, Steve, and Birdie (his caretaker) took him to
the doctor on the third day, he was sicker than we knew. Admitted to the
hospital with heavy antibiotics, he was discovered to have pneumonia
(pneumococcal) and MRSA. He stayed there seven days (Thanksgiving week) while
Russell, Nancy and I visited him morning, noon and night. He was then transported
to Davis Rehab in Porter’s Neck. His health further declined as he continued to
lose weight and refused medicine and food—I doubt he even knew what they were.
Delirium set in both at the hospital and at rehab. With a history of dementia
and emphysema, it did not look good.
We waited. We prayed. We waited. We prayed. Our dear friend,
Carole, played harp to ease Dad’s transition into Heaven that final day. I
believe the angels were at the head of the bed, the foot of the bed and the
side of the bed—perhaps filling the entire room! Jesus stood back, gently
waiting. Carole’s final piece was “Silent Night.” Silent night, holy night, all is well, all is bright. By all signs,
he appeared not quite ready to go—and
then, it happened. His best friend of thirty plus years, Manny (and his wife,
Patsy) had driven an hour to see him. As they made their way down the long hall
with Russell and I by their side, Dad gently slipped away.
Manny and Patsy were there within seconds of the great
transition. And our family let out a collective (if private) “Amen.” We cried.
We reminisced. We cried. We reminisced. I thought, It is well with our souls. With Daddy’s soul. With all of the Morris’
souls. Amen.
Thank you, Lord, for giving me the best father a girl could ever
hope for! We didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but later in life, we discovered we
were more alike than different, Daddy gave me the foundation for a good, solid,
responsible life. He believed in working hard, having pride in what you do,
taking care of the things you owned, playing and having fun, being generous to
a fault, and loving everyone—especially and unequivocally, family.
God rest your soul until we meet again. I love you, Daddy. I always
have. I always will.
