Finding Eudaimonia In My Father’s Death

What do you think about when you think about the most special days of your life?

When I used to think about it, I used to note days like my wedding day,  or when I graduated from school. The truth is, those are the days we put pressure on ourselves to have it be “the most important day”, but truly I think we remember them as stressful and possibly remember failing at making it the most amazing day ever.

I think about things differently as I grow older.

One example is that I now think about my fathers day of death as one of my fondest memories. That doesn’t seem right to say that out loud, but it was. He was in hospice at my home. He was in a hospital bed that hospice had  provided. We put his bed in our “middle room”. It was an odd room, the actual front door of the house room, where we kept boots and odd items, the room was located as a way from the kitchen to the living room. It was August in Vermont and the front door was open and the wooden screen door let in all the sun and summer breezes.

My father was so very happy to be at home with us to die. He did not want to die in a hospital and had made that clear for as long as I can remember. So he was home with me, my husband and the kids. Oh, and our three dogs, who kept vigil until he took his last breath. When he died, I made blueberry muffins while we waited for the cremation service to pick up his body. He was so peaceful and I was so grateful.

I think that day I felt what eudaimonia was. 

He had all the safety and comfort of being home, and we had all the real life connections, and it was real.

Real life, real death. My heart was just contented that day.