It was a year ago. That morning, as I walked through his house, my 93-year-old father looked at me, made eye contact and smiled with his eyes as he was exercising with his physical therapist. A bloom of love formed in my heart as I received his gaze.
A couple of hours later, suddenly, his care-giver pounded on my office door, and opening it, emotionally shouted “Come! Your Father is dying!”
We rushed together into the living room where Dad was bent forward, hanging over his knees on the couch, unconscious and not breathing. It wasn’t clear whether he was alive.
She and I laid his body down on the couch and she began CPR. Dad started breathing but remained unconscious.
Soon the paramedics came and took him to the Emergency Room of the local hospital. We followed in the car.
To my surprise, Dad was conscious and lucid when we arrived.
But his medical situation was dire. He was having congestive heart failure. After several discussions with the doctors, it was clear to me that my dear father wasn’t going to survive.
Talking with him, I said, “Dad, I don’t think you’re going to survive this.” He looked at me, and said, “how old am I?” “93,” I told him. “Almost 100!” he said. I felt an inner smile.
He rested and after a while drifted off to sleep. Suddenly his heart went into crisis and he passed away.
At that moment, it was clear to me that the body that I always thought of as my father, was his body, not him. He’d left.
But what was my father if not the body? That’s what I want to find out. Who was Dad? Who am I? Finding this answer is why I practice Yoga-Meditation.