Yesterday was Palm Sunday at church. Among the Episcopalians, it is a joyful day. We celebrate the arrival of Christ in Jerusalem with noise makers, palm cross', and a reading of the Passion. It has always been one of my more favorite services. I could barely keep from crying this time.
My father is dying. In the very real "death bed" sense. I had dreams of him, my son, and me going fishing, car camping, and my dad teaching him to throw a baseball. All of those hopes are gone now. I do not see him ever rising from this bed. He has gotten so weak, he can not even speak. We have to get him to squeeze our hands to understand his wants. I have never felt so far away from him.
He has been angry this past week. I get why: he is dying and we cannot understand that until we are there. Anger is just the symptom of his fear. He has always claimed to be unafraid of death, but now he is at its door and he is unsure. That in a nutshell is the difference between belief and knowledge.
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