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Mary D

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  1. I was deeply touched by what you wrote. I wanted you to know that you are not alone. I have many of the same feelings you have. My dad, Jose Guerra, was 90 years old and I'm 48. He died Monday, September 28, 2009. When he was in the hospital, I would come home and "throw a fit" I felt like I was 7 years old, kicking and screaming for my daddy and the only person who could comfort me was my daddy. I would yell (howl) from the depth of my being, my whole body shook. I really felt like I was "losing" it (perhaps I did for a bit). Then I would have to go back to the hospital and be a "big girl" and make life and death decisions (I was the medical power of attorney for my dad, I had to make medical decisions for him because he was unable to make them for himself, like withdrawing all medical care at the end). I also related to your "fear" of forgetting your daddy. That was my fear too this past Monday, a week after he died. I wondered and feared if I would forget his voice, his smile, his hugs, his blessings, would I get so busy with my life that he wouldn't matter to me anymore, that made me sooo sad. I sat at his gravesite that day and cried and cried . . . . I want to share with you a few stories that I hope will give you hope that you will not forget your daddy. My dad and mom (both are gone, together forever ) had the best sense of humor and would loved making people laugh. On the day of my dad's burial as the coffin was being brought out of the hearse (my sons were the pall bearers) my heart began to break all over again and I began to cry hysterically, my parents' friend, Al, came up to me and my head fell on his shoulder and I sobbed, he said to me in a puzzled manner, "I was at the wrong funeral . . . see that group over there," he pointed and continued, "the priest said, 'Let's pray for Juan Hernandez' and I knew I was at the wrong place." (my dad's name is Jose Guerra) I began to laugh hysterically and knew my parents had a hand in this. On the day that I sat near his gravesite, I decided to go visit Juan Hernandez's gravesite to pay my respect and to thank him for the "laugh." As I walked toward Juan's gravesite, I asked my dad, "Dad, I just want you to talk to me, I want to hear your voice." Nothing. When I got to the gravesite I noticed that Juan's flowers needed rearrangement and as I fixed them, I noticed that Juan's middle name was "Angel." Too cool. I smiled. A gentleman walked towards me and told me he was sorry for my loss, I told him that I didn't know Juan but I told him the story and we both smiled. He then told me he had lost his wife in April and was so sad, he began to cry, I extended my arms and gave him a hug that he graciously accepted. He then told me that his two daughters care for him now, it reminded me of my sister and me (who cared for my dad). He also told me that he was sick with an illness that the doctor's feared would return because he's in so much grief. Then I heard it, my dad's voice, "Pray for him. Help heal him." You see my dad gave me a healing prayer that he had started using since he was 7 years old and "ordered" me to go forth and pray for others who needed it. So, following the prompting of the voice in my heart, I asked the gentlemand, Felipe, if I could pray for him. I did. and I felt so close to my dad, more than ever. He's in my heart, he's never leaving so long as it has a beat. The last story I wanted to share with you happened yesterday, I was in yoga class and in the final pose, which ironically is called "corpse pose" savasana, and while I lay there completley relaxed after a strenuous practice, I saw my dad's smiling face, I heard myself asking him, "Do you have your chompers (his dentures)?" He smiled widely and bit down on his teeth a few times and we both just laughed and laughed both our smiles as bright as the sun (I'm smiling now just thinking of it). Ask him to come to you, he will, in a way you never imagined. Peace dear one, peace. You will get through this. I promise. Hold on. I believe your dad would want you to. peace and good, mary d I've attached a picture of my dad, me and my sister, two days before he went into the hospital, Sunday, September 20, 2009.
  2. is healing, missing daddy and healing . . .

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