Brad Stark

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My brother, Craig, phoned late one night and said: “Dad’s very ill. You better drive down first thing tomorrow.”

So early next morning I hit the road with a suitcase full of memories and apprehensions. Six hours later when I got to his ward at Mountainside Hospital, there was no one about, not even at the nurses’ station. Then an orderly came out.

“Leland Stark?” I asked. The young man looked down and said, “He’s in 6A. He died about an hour ago. The family has gone home. Want me to go in with you?”

I said, “No thanks, just give me a few minutes.”

If you’ve ever seen Death in the raw, you know it’s not some mortician’s graceful tableau. Death is cold. Brutal. Walking into 6A, I looked upon the face of my beloved, very dead Father. His mouth was open, his eyes rolled back, white.

I sat awhile in shocked silence, in the depths. Then gently closed his eyes.

And now here it is – the wonderful thing that happened on that terrible day.

Suddenly I experienced his spirit, right there beside me, touching me, alive, warm, whole, enfolding, loving. Suddenly we were connected! Everything we wanted – and needed – to say came alive like springtime! It was totally beyond understanding, and irrationally, absolutely, undeniably real.

“Thanks for waiting, Dad. I love you.”

This was his farewell gift to me, and now perhaps to you, and yours, and theirs.
Life is good.