Getting on a plane and flying back to Toronto for the first time was an experience. I slept the majority of the almost 5-hour direct flight. As we got closer, familiar feelings got stronger. The anxiety and breathlessness flooded my body as we approached Pearson International Airport. Reliving the reality that I wasn’t going to see my father alive again. As the plane touched the runway, a tear fell from my eye as I took a deep breath, and my mind flooded with memories. The echo of the phone call on that Friday afternoon. “Jason, your dad just passed away.”
Walking back into the house was much of the same. I didn’t find him in his usual chair. He wasn’t hiding away in his office. He wasn’t in the back, tending to his garden. He wasn’t in the kitchen preparing that get-home meal. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere.
So, this morning, I journey to where I left you, 6 feet under in a box. Your spirit has ascended to the heavens, but I sit here with your feeble frame that gave you so much pain. I miss you, dad.
“Loved with a love beyond all telling and missed with a grief beyond all tears.”
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