Begin a New Beginning

Our father was cared for and loved by the staff at Hospice Serenity House in Tomah, WI, for the last few months of his life. They made sure bird feeders were kept full outside of his window, that his favorite music played all day, and that cards and mementos of his life were within his view. I visited my dad on his 87th birthday, just a week and a day before he died. We watched the wildlife outside of his window, talked about life in Trempealeau and days gone by, and chit-chatted with staff members as they came into his room to make sure he had everything he needed to feel comfortable. Even the staff cleaning his room were full of a kindness and love one could only hope to be immersed in at the end of life. I am grateful that good people exist everywhere, especially for my dad during a time when I could not be one of those kind, loving, present people in his life.

One week after his birthday visit, I was literally packing up the car to leave for the Serenity House when we received a call that Dad had severely declined and that if we wanted to say in-person goodbyes, we should come that day. Ma and I arrived in the early afternoon and one of my brothers joined us a little later. I have never sat vigil at someone's bedside as they neared the end of this earthly life. Dad was sleeping, experiencing severe apnea, so we watched and waited with each breath to see if it was indeed his last. We witnessed Dad reach his arms out several times, grasping at something unseen in the room just above him. He was mostly asleep and non-verbal, but he did moan once that he could hear us.

We did it all that day, the three of us, and Dad listening as he did the work of letting go of this life. We prayed, we cried, we laughed, we sang, and just talked on and off throughout the evening. We held Dad's hands and told him it was okay to let go, that Ma was well cared for, and everything else was in order. I truly thought Dad would pass while we were there, and I think we each hoped for that moment to come when we could be by his side. Within the first few minutes of sitting next to him when we arrived, Ma said "I'm staying here. No one should die alone like this." I was prepared to do the right thing, but along with praying for my dad's smooth transition out of this life, I prayed for a miracle that would spare Ma and me from spending a sleepless night listening for his last breath.

And what a miracle we were given! Somewhere around 9pm, weary from the day's big emotions, we decided it was time to go home, and Ma decided she wanted to go home too. Dad didn't respond when my brother said his goodbyes to him. Before I could say farewell to my dad, our mother shooed us out of the room with a wave of her hands, commanding, "Now you two get out of here! I need privacy to say goodbye to your father!" 

My brother and I stared at each other for a second, then did what any curious kids would do, and stood outside of the partially open door and listened intently as our parents exchanged a beautiful goodbye. Dad became conscious for a few moments, long enough for the two of them to have a brief conversation filled with love and reverence about his departure and their lives together. I can't remember all the words exchanged, but I heard Ma distinctly, "You're my guy, Larry!" before they shared their last kiss. And so he was, just as she was his girl for over 66 years. 

The peace and gratitude I felt at that moment cannot be described. One of the few things I've carried in my heart from my Catholic upbringing is the belief in miracles. I have witnessed a few, and this was certainly one of them. After Ma and my brother had left the room, I went over to Dad, I took his hand in mine, bent down, and whispered the last words I would speak to him in this life: 

"I love you, Dad. 

I forgive you, Dad. 

I'm sorry, Dad. 

Thank you, Dad. 

It's ok, you're safe to go now, Dad."

My brother arrived back at Serenity House just after Dad had passed away on the following night, October 3, 2023. He gathered Dad's belongings and began all the doing family does when one of their own passes. I thought I might be there when Dad left this planet, and I thought for sure I would feel his departure, but neither came to pass. I think I didn't feel Dad leave the planet the day he died because he had only left his body, his spirit still remained.

He came to me in a dream on All Hallows Eve, with a wave and a sheepish look that said, "Hey, I'm still here, can you see me, will you let me in?" Outside of that dream, I don't see my dad, but I feel him. I feel him wanting someone to take him by the hand and tell him it's ok, you are loved beyond words, and it's time to come home. I feel him still afraid that he won't be allowed into the light, a light he was so desperately drawn to within my mother especially, but just could not participate in for long periods because of his own darkness. My dad and I had a tough time together in this life, but I know he loved me. And as soon as he can walk into that light, he'll know I have always loved him too, even when I was too hurt to show it anymore.

I had the chance to honor Dad on my own, in my shop on a recent random afternoon this December. I gathered the materials and intentions required for the occasion and queued up a song. Once I lit the candle, I let the music move me. I spoke to my dad and I cried tears of grief and joy, love and sorrow, regret and hope. I cried for things and people who are no longer a part of my life, as well as for those walking with me today. I cried for the life and love I never had as a child, and that my father never had either. And then I cried with gratitude and awe of myself. For my courage and dedication to the healing I have done so my children will never have to cry the same kind of tears I have...and it was all so good.

The lovely caregivers at Serenity House honor each of their residents' transitions from this world to the next with a procession accompanied by music and a loving farewell by those on staff as the newly departed's body is moved out of the building. During the last few decades of his life, Dad's ears would perk up when he heard a song I was playing that he enjoyed. "Now, what is that?" he would ask. I was surprised to find that some of my dad's favorite songs were by 90's groups I listened to in my teenage years including The Cranberries, 4 Non Blondes, and especially Enya. I made him a few "mixed tapes" with some of his favorites. He had me buy every Enya album out at that time, which he played on repeat for years and years. I wasn't with Dad as he passed from this world, but if I had been DJ'ing his body's procession, this is the song I would have played, allowing it to carry his spirit as well as mine, as we both "begin a new beginning".

In Loving Memory of My Dad, Larry John Heffner

My Dark Night of the Soul Journey was necessary to reach where I am today. While I am still working through the residue of a lifetime of beliefs and behaviors that no longer serve me, I am so grateful to be the most authentic version of myself I have ever known. If you're curious, please join me at the beginning of this adventure of me. It has been a journey worth taking, for sure!