Your teacher, Lama Tenzin Yongdu,
has been a devoted father to me.
.
My father loved me.
I loved my father.
During the past eight years,
we have talked with each other
for a long time after supper.
.
In 2014, I visited my father
in Pullahari for three weeks.
My father moved from Nepal's
high elevation at the end of 2014
because his heart and lungs were
not able to tolerate the low oxygen.
He moved into my home in Jan. 2015.
He was active and teaching to the end.
.
My father was recognized
in our small town of Fort Plain
because he took long walks
on our neighborhood sidewalks.
Until shortly before his passing,
he drove to a swimming pool
three mornings each week--
a beautiful drive in the rural areas
of the Mohawk Valley in New York.
He did a zooming tonglen practice
with a Ukrainian group at lunch time.
My father taught evening classes
on meditation through our local libraries
from the beginning of his time with me.
He had started a new class for beginners
to be accommodating to their inexperience,
shortly before he took his final breaths.
He had planned to continue teaching
his students from his hospital bed.
.
My father passed a few minutes after
receiving a call from Tenzin Dorjee,
during a Pullahari ceremony
which was dedicated in part
to world peace and harmony.
Prayers were said for my father
on the last day of that ceremony.
His cellphone was held to his ear
by Sharon Tunney, a local student,
at 3:00 am local time. Before
my father's body was removed,
Nancy Drury, from Montreal, Canada,
read a poem by Emile, Tenzin, and
an email from Shambala's Suzann.
.
My father often visited with his family.
When my father turned 90 years old,
we had a family reunion for his birthday.
On Saturday, March 11, we traveled
a hundred miles to a restaurant
where we visited with my brother's
family, including his four grandsons.
A couple days before that visit,
he had visited my other brother
in his home, also a distance away.
He canceled airline tickets for
visiting my sister's family in Texas.
He did not feel up to the long trip.
He has three great-grandchildren
he was hoping to visit in Texas.
Good that he was not in Texas
when there was a sudden decline
in his ability to keep breathing.
.
In the early hours of the morning,
after his Sat. 3/11 visit with family,
My husband and I were awakened
in the night by his labored breathing.
An ambulance transported him with
the high levels of oxygen he needed
for the journey to a local hospital.
A couple days later, on Tuesday,
zooming with doctors and family,
it was decided my father would
not be able to return to his home.
We were expecting a short stay
in the hospital. His breathing
became increasing labored
at a rapidly declining rate
until he took his final breath
on Friday, March 17, 2023.
Nancy read a poem by Emile
and an email from Shambala's
Suzann in the presence of my
father's body and those gathered.
.
Because his vital daily living
was with our family household,
I feel keenly aware of his absence.
I miss him when I make supper,
when I must lock the door for
my home that is no longer filled
by his ever-present wakefulness.
There was never a dirty dish
because he kept the dishes clean
throughout the day every day.
Every night shortly after 11pm,
he called goodnight to me.
After a morning conversation
as he lay under his covers,
every morning we prayed
a short prayer at 7:30 am
before 7:40 zoom meditation
with an international group.
"Be good and kind and nurturing
to yourself and all sentient beings."
I put my hands together and bowed,
saying, "Namaste."
.
My husband and I have
swallowed a pill for a blessing,
offered by Nancy Drury,
who came to my home.
I am wearing the white scarf
placed by Nancy over my
father's breathless body.
I will wear it for 49 days.
.
Arrangements are being made
for a funeral service locally.
.
"Absence makes the heart
grow fonder." I experience it.
.
Eve Lynn Rolls Elliott
.
...............................
...............................
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My father passed during a long-lasting ceremony
dedicated to World Peace and Harmony,
and was honored on the last day of it.