My dad pondered the profound. He wrote hundreds of poems. You may read some of his poetry at
http://www.dakotacom.net/~kozachik/poetry/index.html
He wrote many words to convey mystery, awe and beauty. Yet hours before he died, in the middle of the night, when every breath took energy, when he didn’t even have the strength to hold up his large, incredible head, I heard him weakly speak.
“It’s coming.”
My mom got up to sit next to his bed.
“It’s coming.”
“Words.”
It was hard to understand him and my mom (knowing his humor) thought he said “Worms?”
He muttered something else.
“Black worms?” my mom asked.
My dad said clearly this time.
“No, words.”
There was a long pause and now my brother Joel and I were next to my dad listening.
“Last words.”
And those were the last words my dad spoke. He took his last breath hours later. My sister Sylvia was holding his hand. My mom, brother Joel, daughter Kimberly and I were nearby. He knew at that moment my brother Wayne was flying here from Florida. Minutes later my other brother Mark called because some how he felt he should at that moment.
Lyle Paulsen died around 9 am, January 25, 2004.
I am filled with sorrow because I selfishly want my dad to say more. |
