At Ease, Soldier

We circled dad’s bed in the billet,

where our wounded warrior

labored for breath and being.

Beat up badly, his body impuissant,

his brain poisoned by uremia,

we knew the time was drawing nigh.

The Duke of Wellington once said,

“The hardest thing of all 

for a soldier is to retreat.”

We knew what Dylan Thomas knew:

“That dad would not go

quietly into that good night.”

He didn’t fight this long

to lay down arms and tacitly surrender.

So we gave him permission.

Earlier, we had talked as sibs about 

getting on a similar page,

so we were saying the same thing

to our dad in our own unique way.

The messaging went something like this:

“Dad, you’re free to go to be with Jesus,

we want you to know that we’ll be ok.”

Spoken by each of his progeny,

assuring him of his posterity.

 

In an effort to somehow soothe him

we began singing the old hypnotic hymns

beginning with one of his favorites,

“My hope is in the Lord”.

His eyebrows would pinch and pitch—

I’d like to think it was the

soothing Psalms we were crooning,

Lullabies to tenderly becalm

this once waxing now waning warrior.

“It is well with my soul”

was the next on our playlist.

We did our best to belt it out

through tight throats and tears—

it was anything but impressive.

I imagine the author Horatio Spafford

struggled to hold the notes himself

as he penned these timeless words

after the tragic death of his four kids.

Our ache was the emotional reversal,

four children losing their one dad—

As real for us in 2021 

as it was for him in 1873.

As we finished the final chorus

the expected and unexpected happened—

He drew in a deep breath

and exhaled a sigh of relief,

the groan of a grown man

giving up the ghost

transported to his heavenly home

on the wings of angels.

Tragedy and triumph braided together

in a holy and heavy moment.

Our dad was finally home,

His faith had become sight.

There never was a more honorable discharge.

At ease, soldier.