Saying Goodbye

My stepdad Les passed away on January 17, five days after I posted my letter to him. I am so glad I wrote it when I did. Les, in his typical humble and quiet fashion, thanked me and told me with a smile that he thought it was "really a nice letter. Even if all that nice stuff about me is a pack of lies." I took the opportunity to hug him and tell him how much I would miss him.

Just a few days later it became difficult for him to stay awake, and our collective focus began shifting from final expressions of love to making sure he was comfortable and peaceful. (Although he and I did watch a bit of the Packers-Giants game on Sunday night. When he said he wanted to see the Pack go to the Superbowl I threw my arms around him and cheered.)

On Tuesday morning, as he was surrounded by family, my mom laid her cheek on his and told him she loved him. By then, he had been unresponsive and his eyes had been closed for a day. But at my mom's words, he opened his eyes and looked into hers. (She said the sunlight made them incredibly, unusually blue.) Then he breathed his last breath.

All of us were glad his fight was over, and that he wouldn't suffer, but of course the finality of death feels cruel and painful. He will be very missed.