The rage percolates and pours out on family and caregiver. Violence hurled at the nurse during the ultrasound, “You poke me with that one time and you’ll be wearing it.” Scarier still that minutes later he said he couldn’t remember the incident. The anger deep inside, spilling out from a soul still in rebellion.
Dad’s in the hospital again. Talk of congestive heart failure and rehabilitation, going home and getting better. We make small talk while he eats his lunch. Death is the elephant in the room.
“What do you want on your tombstone,” the counselor asked. The answer easier now than ten years ago: Lived large, laughed out loud, fought his fears, quit posing and pretending, taught his daughter all the above.
The Preacher wrote, “It is better to go into a house of mourning than into a house of celebration for that is the end of all men; and it causes the living to take notice.” How are you doing at unpacking your pachyderm? What do you want on your tombstone?