A Warrior’s Death

A light snow is falling forming a thin carpet of crisp white on the frosty fields visible through the window. The vast expanse of wintery Norfolk sky reaches as far as the eye can see. There is silence, only interrupted by the odd car slowing to turn the corner on the road below, and the low buzz of the hospital bed feeding a closely monitored dose of morphine into my fathers withered body. Every now and then Juno can be heard nervously shifting position downstairs as her paws momentarily scratch the wooden floors.

I sit with my back to the view and gaze into my father’s beautiful grey blue eyes as they stare absently into the abyss. I match my breathing to his to feel the labored rise and fall of his chest.

I am acutely aware that he is on a journey I cannot join him on. Instead I melt into his breathing and admire his wife’s endless attention to the details of his comfort.

This is what all my years of practice have been for, these moments of dropping away, be it of my teachers as they journey on, my children as they grow and move towards self-dependence, unexpected loss of friends and loved ones, beloved animal companions, my own youth and vitality and here, being with my father, as he moves courageously towards the final letting go.

May we practice strong in life to face death with wide-open eyes and the heart of a warrior.

This piece is dedicated to my father: Robert Charles Hull (24 April 1948- 15 January 2022)

Toko

(published in edition 111.7 of Brooklyn Aikikai’s journal on “Practice in Daily life”, 2024)