Years ago I became a hospice volunteer and took on a patient, Phil. He was in his mid-nineties, and his life expectancy at the time was less than 6 months, but I ended up sitting by his bedside for well over a year.

Phil had been both a prolific painter and also a well-loved art teacher. He was a brilliant man who found himself bored to tears bedridden with little else to do but stare at the ceiling. He had long given up painting. I think without a steady hand, he just didn't have it in him to do it anymore although he often did talk about picking up the paintbrush again. He never did.

He so looked forward to me coming for the mental stimulation it provided. He was aware of my depression and was most interested in some healing modalities I was investigating. Such things had always fascinated him as he was a progressive thinker, but unfortunately these modalities weren't as accessible in his time as they are today. I told him of my adventures witnessing some miraculous healings, and he lived vicariously through my experiences. My adventure became his adventure. I helped Phil through the tedium of waiting to die, and he helped me through the tedium of waiting to live.

Without realizing it Phil was my mentor. He kept telling me stories over again. I know it was dementia, but I do find it interesting that those very stories repeated were exactly what I needed to hear. I remember at one point he was obsessed about some book about the key to happiness. He was desperate for me to read it, but he couldn't remember the author or title. He told me it was a true story about a married couple who flew all over the world. When I think about the red-tailed hawks flying over my head, I can't help but think that Phil wanted me to soar because that would be the key to my happiness.

Phil's date of birth, February 22nd, happened to be my dad's date of death, so when we celebrated Phil's birthday, I could not help but think of my dad who had died years prior. I found that a most interesting coincidence. Even so, despite having this critical date in common, Phil and Dad were worlds apart.

Phil had been warmly supported for his artistic ability since his youth. He often told a story of while in teaching school being offered a "safe" job. His supervisor suggested he not take it. She told him seeking security is a trap he would live to regret. She knew he had more to offer than what that job entailed. He did not accept the job, because he knew she was right. And still--while pursuing his passion, Phil ultimately was able to make a nice living and retire with plenty of money saved as did my father. However, I think Phil had a more satisfying time of it.

My dad was a tough guy, but loving and often absurdly humorous. He had been a copilot in WWII reaching the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. I think on some level he never lived that war down and was always trying to be the hero and fight the good fight. Unfortunately, sometimes the fights were created in his mind--and so he often found himself in battles that were unnecessary. He claimed upon returning home from the war he had battle fatigue that manifested as a drug-like withdrawal. Although he despised being in battle; nonetheless, he had become addicted to the adrenaline rush of it. Perhaps he had PTSD that never was totally addressed that drove this addiction to fight. Unlike Phil, seeking safety was Dad's obsession probably given his wartime experiences; therefore, I assume that is why he discouraged my dreams and aspirations.

After he retired this propensity to wage war increased, most notably in litigious behavior. I read that PTSD symptoms often reemerge after retirement because of too much free time available to dwell and relive war experiences. Therefore, post-war retirees must busy themselves as he did through his continuous legal battles and endless days working on an unfinished book about why it was not strategically feasible to bomb Auschwitz and the rail system leading to it.

Fighting in the war was his greatest honor, and his biggest battle was to protect that honor and defend the war strategy used. He had given his life for this country and having his war actions questioned as immoral hurt him deeply. I was so pleased that we were able to have a flag folding ceremony and 21 gun salute at his funeral. I know it would have been something he would have loved. He was a man of great substance and depth, and I am thankful for having those qualities modeled to me.

The last day I saw Phil I wrote:

Today I sat bedside, holding the hand of a dying man. He's been dying for a while, but now the end is very near. I said good-bye and thanked him for the honor of knowing him. He was conscious looking at me. Between gasps of air and cries for help he said with clarity, "Thank you." I pray he is among the legion of angels that surround me when he goes. I always got the sense he was waiting around to make sure I was okay. Though I am not his family, we are kin in soul--and I believe he will continue to look after me for eternity as he has done since we met. I do not know if this is the last day I will be seeing him before he transitions, but I left the room with the expectation that it might be. I pray for peace and wish him the joy of the forthcoming journey he's so anticipated to take with wonder. May the threshold of the doors of beyond warmly welcome him with his many loved ones that have gone before with smiles and hugs of welcome for a true warrior who lived a long and useful life.

Good-bye my friend...

The other night I had a dream that I was visited by Dad. We took a walk together, and he told me he really liked what I am doing and not to change a thing. Then he said, "I am proud of you." As a flyboy Dad loved the beauty of flight. Perhaps if he were alive today, he might appreciate my connection to the red-tailed hawk. While post-war my father had a preference for the safety of the ground, the red-tailed hawk represents both Earth and sky, a balance between flight and groundedness--the perfect formula for a joyful and resilient life.

I have come to see that just because one flies, does not mean one must meet the fate of Icarus. There's no necessity to fly as high as the sun, but only as high as is required to see how one's calling fits into the big picture. That ever-changing snapshot serves as a useful map to flexibly make adjustments to one's flight to keep up with the perpetually changing reality. So long as one does not lose sight of the ground and is a competent flyer who can land gently and beautifully like the red-tailed hawk, there's nothing to fear. True--there is always risk to flight, but for me the greater risk is not to fly at all. To live in a bubble of safety is akin to not living. I've done enough of that.

If it is true that loved ones who pass on watch over us, then I think Phil and Dad must be with me everyday--lovingly anticipating my flight.

Phil and Dad, I love you.