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Recently while in a deep meditation, I was literally transported back to my Papa's bedside the night he passed over.  Don't ask questions.  Simply accept.  I was there.  It was a cool November night.  The furnace was on.  The room was warm.  Papa was peaceful and I sat close beside his bed, my head on his chest, his hand in mine.  Rissie lay at the end of his bed by his feet. He knew we were there.

Suddenly, I had a great urge to grab a pen and paper.  I picked up the nearest scrap and a pen and my hand began to move across the page.  I was weeping so that I could not see the page, nor did I know what was coming next.  I only knew a deep sadness had overtaken me, and I had to do this.  And I quote:

"Don't leave me Papa ....      .... please            ........ don't go, don't close your eyes.  I am sixty five, but only a child.  Who will care for me?  Who will love me?  Who will be my mentor and my friend.  No .... NO PAPA .... you are leaving.  Your eyes are closing          ........ you see something in the distance and it calls.      I call too Papa       ....... please stay just a moment longer.   Here, hold my hand ...... I am here           .......come back Papa .... p l e a s e .... come back.  You are gone.  You are already there.  Even if you are only a breath away, it might as well be a million miles.  Why is life to cruel.  Why does it taste so bitter.  Why do I sit here alone as your hand grows cold?  May I come?  You say no ... but I ask you Papa ... What is left here??  Tell me!"

This is so very different that the actual night Papa crossed over.  I was fifty-seven.  I was calm.  I was ready.  Papa was ninety seven.  I knew it was time.  But this!  This was real.  This was the real grief.  I think perhaps I am grieving now.