Daddy, please don't leave me...

"Daddy, please don't leave..."

They can be difficult words to hear sometimes - when your 4 year old is hanging from your leg like a pleading koala and you are running late for your train to work.  There's guilt and frustration mingled with a sprinkle of yearning...

Other times not so difficult - like at 3am last night after answering a call, pulling her doona up over her chilly body and doing the old 'hand on the back' routine until her breathing became slow and steady.  Thinking she was asleep I turned to walk out the door when a tiny, sleepy voice said those 4 little words.

Then, with time a-plenty, it was a pleasure to say "Sure, Sweetheart, I'll be right here." and climb in with her, snuggle up and doze for an hour or so while she slumbered contentedly in the crook of my arm. 

Another of those beautiful little gems I string on the thread of my life that make me happy to be a father.

My own father is dying.  He has been for some time, but has entered the final phases now.  He rarely eats more than soup and has wasted away to where I can circle my hand right around his arms and even legs (If I chose.  I choose not to.  That would be creepy.).

When we visit he just wants to hold your hand while you talk about the inanities of daily life.  He drifts in and out of the conversation, but never lets go.

When it is time to leave I can see in his eyes the words "Sonny, please don't leave...", but he never says it.  He just says "Goodbye Sonny.  Goodbye."

It's hard to go.  His nights are lonely.

I'm 50 years old, and as a grown-up I feel sad for my Dad, am confronted by mortality, feel for his suffering and can accept the only way past that suffering for him now is to die.  To move on to whatever it is we move on to.

But if I'm honest, inside me somewhere there is a little boy staring in dismay at the skeletal figure lying curled under a blanket and who sees there the shadow of his big, strong father; remembers his warm, work-thickened hands carrying him and who still feels the security of the big man's hug.

...and who can't help but plead in the darkness "Daddy, please don't leave..."