Paternal2

My father called me tonight, and I could hear it in his voice, so subtle, the crack. He said they have moved my grandfather to hospice. It won’t be long now…
Two weeks ago, as we sat in my grandparents living room, as I let my grandfather tell me about his pain and about dying, I watched my father, in the periphery. Stoic, save for the grief that seemed to make his broad shoulders more weighted, and his eyes more soft. At one point, as I held my grandfather close, I watched my father’s stoic mask fall. He was watching his only daughter holding his dying father, likely for the final time, and I can only imagine the existential weight of such a sight… The green eyes of both a child and a father in that moment.
I’m so proud of them both, for the growth in the face of death. Both of them more vulnerable, even as I watch my father try to be strong for his father. I take comfort in seeing the whispers of the gentleness of heart, I seem to have inherited from them.
And I laugh a little, knowing I also inherited the need to feel strong. Realizing I’ve been watching my father not only out of curiosity, but also out of protection. Wanting, more than anything, to soften the force of grief. Being the calm person, willing to hear my grandfather talk about the difficult things that swell the grief, not because I am removed from it, but because I want to protect my father and give my grandfather reassurance. I’m trying to fix what I can- keeping my brave face on, even as I feel the crushing weight of loss. What a strong paternity…I really am my father’s daughter.