three years ago.
We, his girls, were sitting all around him that day. René, Aimé, Leah, Bon, Al and myself.
He had been in the deep, somewhat comatose state that many people linger in before
actually passing over.
His eyes were slightly open and very dark, like deep pools.
Those eyes! Together those eyes and that brain created more than 2000 finished works
and who knows how many unfinished drawings there are. I am still finding them here
in the house and studio.
|Hopes and Memories by Armand Merizon, 1991|
I remember the sun was shining through the window, just as it is now, as I write this.
He would not be missing that last segment of his life! His room was one of many rooms,
holding amazing people who were sick and in different stages of dying.
His room was in the stately, Trillium Woods Hospice, just over here, across the highway,
north of 84th street.
He had been there for almost 2 months, passing the days sleeping on a low mattress
with sides around it. He had a tendency to be restless. He wanted out of there!
It was heartbreaking to visit him everyday and have him ask me if he could go home now.
He was being medicated all the time to keep him "comfortable". Those two months sucked.
His 90th birthday, February 28, was celebrated there, in his room.
He held his little dog, Teddy on his lap.
By that time, I think he had removed himself from this plane of consciousness.
He was not coherent during those last weeks. He spoke in whispers,
a mystical cryptic jargon.
My dads breathing was labored and somewhat irregular. We petted his big old nog.
The head that held that brain. What was going on in there during those last moments?
Three years gone by, and I am still just as mystified as I was that day. How can this be?
What happens to our spirits when we pass?
|Self portrait, by Armand Merizon|
With my dad, I think, there is so much lost. It is obviously, the very same when any person dies.
I just mean to say, that when he left, there was so much that left with him.
His talent, thoughts and ideas. The man was a very deep thinker.
What happens to all of that?
He created so many paintings with spiritual implications.
|by Armand Merizon.|
I remembered feeling the same things when my sister, Michele, was obviously no longer "in there",
when I rushed to the house where she had passed only minutes before. Where was my girl?
Then again with my mother,
who I remember, or at least I think I remember, sat up, coughed and was gone after almost 5 days
being present, only physically. I may be a little unclear about that, as she died here,
at home and we were exhausted to the point of hallucinating.
|Body and Soul by Armand Merizon|
Where do we go? Its the ultimate question, What happens when we die?
I like the white light idea personally. I like the thought of going toward a light with happy
anticipation of seeing my long lost loved ones again. The feeling of awesome peace.
When my dad finally passed, there was a great sense of relief, I think. All around.
It felt as though the body of which we were sitting around, was smaller and without tension.
Suddenly not the powerful presence it had been just moments before.
The room was even lighter than it had been. Suddenly, sounds of life came back.
Birds outside the window. Peoples voices in the hall. Even at that moment,
life kept moving on.
|Schetzo by Armand Merizon.|
I am frustrated not to be able to articulate more clearly these feelings I have.
I miss you, daddy, even when I do feel as though you are still here.
I look forward to seeing you again someday, if that could be.....
|Breakout, by Armand Merizon.|