The end of the year “without,” aka the first year after his death, with Dad in a different incarnation, is here! My Dad, the person we brought into our home so he could finish out his days amidst family, with his partners Parkinson’s and Dementia, and the sole reason at the time for this blog (which at its start I titled “Dad’s Journey Home”), died exactly one year ago today—March 15, 2023 at 4:41am with my wife Kristin, my brother Trevor, and me (with our dog Sammy at the foot of the bed with his head down on his paws), holding his hands.
Dad was holding mom’s rosary when he died. Trevor has Dad’s wedding ring now.
4:41am—the time on the clock when I looked up at his last breath.
4:41am—time of death.
4:41am—the time I’ve set for the Friday release of every subsequent Substack post—my silent and subtle homage to my dad with every single post since then.
I started “Dad’s Journey Home” intending it initially only for family to keep everyone up to date on all things Dad/Grandpa/Uncle/Wally. In July of 2022, we moved Dad from his home territory amidst the hop fields of eastern Washington, to our home “west of the Cascades” which marked the very first time in his entire life Dad lived away from the Yakima valley; and because close family there would now have to travel across Snoqualmie Pass to see him, starting a blog felt a natural way to keep family close. The writing of it proved both mentally engaging and cathartic for me.
Because there have been more amazing subscribers to my ‘Stack since then, and since my Dad’s death, sometimes it’s appropriate to restack older posts, especially if new subscribers might find them useful for a greater context. So I do so with this one today. Next week, I’ll add new reflections on our family’s year, along with additional “Elderings” from my Dad.
My Dad spent a total of 254 days with us, in my home, with me as his 24/7 caregiver, as he journeyed home—days that at the time were sometimes very joyful, and sometimes very challenging; days viewed in retrospect that are now too precious for words. Suffice it to say for now, Dad never left us; he’s just with us differently—but he’s with us still.
Thank you for being here.
Here, now, part I of my planned two part homage to my Dad sent initially on March 15, 2023.
Rest In Peace now, Dad. Just…rest.
And we Love you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and when the time comes to let it go,
let it go.
~ Mary Oliver
“In Blackwater Woods”
Letting him go
All,
For over 84 years, at least for the ones among those we were alive, we have loved what was mortal, held him tightly against our bones because we always knew our lives depended on it and on him, and when the time came to let him go, well, we did just that.
At 4:41 A.M. on Wednesday, March 15, Dad’s strong heart took its last beat as he died peacefully while embraced in the warmth and love of the family he loved. Trevor, Kristin, and I held hands with Dad as he breathed his final breath; every wish of his, and ours, fulfilled. With heavy yet grateful hearts, we have let Dad go; and now, finally, he’s let go too.
An Elder, one who is eldering us to allow into our lives a more sacred way of holding death, our own and the one’s of our beloved, which at the same time honors the sacredness of life even more, would say that that is what life itself demands of us: to let go what was mortal after having held on to it so strongly, and so closely, for so long. Eighty four years, six months to be exact.
We’ve complied with life’s demand, and we’ve been changed forever.
From everything we were able to bear witness to, Dad died much in the same way he lived: with his characteristic grace and humility and kindness and quiet dignity. If he ever looks back, and I kinda sorta don’t want him to, preferring that he simply just keeps going forward; but if he does, I believe Dad will look back with pride at the beautiful family he created and left behind here on earth. He’d likely consider THAT to be the most important thing he grew.
Dad died after living a full life that included a lot of hard and heart-breaking work, sweat, and selfless, quiet devotion; he’s physically left us now after dying into a beautiful death that included family, Hospice, comfort, and the warmth of love. We are so grateful, and fortunate, that circumstances arose precisely in a manner that allowed us to provide for Dad the fulfillment of his wishes: that he die at home, surrounded by family, with only love present. There is sadness here now, of course. And there is the beginnings of a new kind of grief that we will welcome, embrace together, and allow into our lives so that we can live fully into it for a spell—this new grief evidence of the depth of our love for our Dad. But there is joy here too because joy contains within its gladness all the pain, hurt, and sadness in a life—that is, after all, how we come to know and appreciate authentic joy. One cannot know the lights and heights of joy without also knowing the darks and depths of sorrow.
None of us here have ever experienced a life on this earth without Dad in it. Every waking moment of our world has had Dad some place, some where, probably working out in the middle of some field on a Ford tractor discing up weeds into the soil—or dreaming of doing so. So even though we’ve spent time imagining what this way of living might be like without him, these are new and unique times for us. It is said “nature abhors a vacuum;” right now, we cannot yet imagine how the void created from Dad’s dying will be ultimately filled; but we’re all pretty sure it will involve ample joyful memories, fun stories of Dad and farm life, mental pictures of Dad on a dance floor, and plenty of internal pride in having been raised by a truly wonderful and decent man; and, simply, gratitude. Lots and lots of gratitude for the family life he gave us and for the example he set on how to be in this world with integrity, humility, and kindness.
As I finish typing those words, I realize…we are starting to fill the void already.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wallace (Wally) Lenseigne
Born: September 12, 1938
Died: March 15, 2023
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On the Importance of Language:
By now you know how important words and language are to me. So it’s important to share with you we didn’t “lose” Dad—saying “I’m sorry for your loss” wouldn’t be accurate nor appropriate. We do need new language when it comes to the place Death resides in all of our lives. Stephen Jenkinson says “Grief is a form of loving that which has slipped from view.” Dad died; he has slipped permanently from our earthly view. This grief proof that he was alive and led a proud and humble life. If he were given the chance to live it all over again, I believe from the bottom of my heart, that he’d live it all EXACTLY the way he did this first time around.
Instead of having lost him, we welcome him into our lives now in new ways, new beginnings, new ways of viewing, as we take him forward in our hearts to be a more intimate part of us, forever. So as I said above, up till now, Dad was always someplace else in our world; now, he’s only within each of us, as close as the next beat of our softly broken but opened hearts. As I write that, THAT is how we’ll “backfill” the void he’s left—Dad knew a lot about backfilling holes and such. Or more accurately, he knew how to tell Trevor to go do it.
Because he was so genuinely authentic and simple, we know exactly who he was, what he did while he was here, how he did it, and especially how he died—because we were present when it happened. All these being gifts that many people are not fortunate enough to receive from their departed beloveds. And we also know where he is now—which is to say locked and kept safely within each of us.
If you were to ask us where we now think Dad is, we won’t be pointing toward Moxee; we’ll simply point to our hearts.
Befriending death is not morbid.
It is not depressing.
It is not giving up on living.
It is merely accepting the natural boundary
given to life for our benefit.
It is up to you to shine a light
upon the path of life
so those who follow you
might walk without fear.
~ William Martin
”The Sage’s Tao Te Ching: Chapter 17” (The Experiment LLC Publishing, 2000.)
On behalf of Dad’s entire family; and especially my brothers Trevor and Clary; and our wives, Kendra, Gloria, and Kristin, I want to thank you for your interest, your engagement, and your love. We are so proud of our Dad for the way he lived his life, for the lessons he taught us in his quiet ways, for his humble devotion to a thing greater than himself (his beloved farm and the virtues of humility through hard work), and for the love we got to experience from him in so many different ways. And for his kindness.
Godspeed Dad. We love you.
You have made us proud.
I will keep this blog live for a little while longer as we tie together some loose ends (or as Dad might say: “top-knot and arch the twine.”) There should be a few more posts coming in the next few weeks, ones that have already been drafted that will complete the picture and story of who Dad was, and ones still yet to be written to close out his life as our Elder. I hope you remain interested through those. There is, here in this space, an audience of readers who are diverse and know my Dad, or know of my Dad, in various ways; there is also family here, many of whom are scattered across different parts of our state and country. So I will use this forum to provide updates on important upcoming dates as well as other things that might be of interest. This might be a good way to get you the information you need.
Again, thank you. It was my high honor to share with you my Dad over these many months, these 254 days since the first day he joined us in our home. I love knowing, in any kind of way, that he has become an Elder of yours in order to shine just a bit of his own bright light forward onto your own path—your own Journey Home. May you tread lightly that path of yours with sure footing and with clear eyes and a broken-wide-open heart. That’s how Dad travelled his; and he did it well.
If you want, or feel called to memorialize my Dad in any way, perform an act of kindness to another in his memory; and to honor his humility, make it an anonymous act. You’d be the only one then who will know what you did, and why. Much like the way Dad lived his humble life. There would be no greater legacy if you did that in his name out of remembrance.
Please stay tuned here in this space for a special ritual you will be invited to participate in as our own way of providing a shared, meaningful engagement and final closure among this particular community of family and friends—all of you who, through your dedicated reading, have provided meaningful support to Dad’s family. Instructions and guidance to follow soon. And yes, strawberry ice cream will be involved.
With love and gratitude, always love and gratitude,
Wally’s proud son,
Kert
🙏🏼
T plus 254 days since July 4, 2022, the day he joined us to live out his Journey Home; the 30,865th day of his life on earth. Those counts end now; Dad’s Journey is complete. His Soul has returned home.
Let new counts begin with joy, love, and kindness.
Always kindness.
Postscript:
Our dad remains alive through the memories we all have and the stories we tell and I hope will keep telling—with fondness, smiles, laughter, and admiration. May we share them always in joy so that he remains alive in our hearts.
Every day during the final vigil, I silently recited this lovely John O’Donohue blessing for Dad at his bedside—my own personal and private way of Eldering Dad for his next eternal Journey. And my way of saying goodbye:
~~~~~~~~~~
Entering Death
I pray that you will have the blessing
Of being consoled and sure about your death.
May you know in your soul
There is no need to be afraid.
When your time comes, may you have
Every blessing and strength you need.
May there be a beautiful welcome for you
In the home you are going to.
You are not going somewhere strange,
Merely back to the home you have never left.
May you live with compassion
And transfigure everything
Negative within and about you.
May your going be sheltered
And your welcome assured.
May your soul smile
In the embrace
Of your Anam Cara.
~ John O’Donohue
This is purely beautiful. An incredible tribute to an incredible father. My dad passed on to the next life six years ago and I could feel so much of those memories through your story. He was also a farmer. And we assured him during his final months that he had done well and he would nod in agreement. Treasured memories and love that now is different but still precious. Thank you for sharing your story.
Beautiful. It is wonderful that you cared for him until the end.
I very much appreciate your note about needing to change our language for grief. Indeed we need to embrace this part of life.
I particularly love:
"One cannot know the lights and heights of joy without also knowing the darks and depths of sorrow."
"May you tread lightly that path of yours with sure footing and with clear eyes and a broken-wide-open heart."
This is purely beautiful. An incredible tribute to an incredible father. My dad passed on to the next life six years ago and I could feel so much of those memories through your story. He was also a farmer. And we assured him during his final months that he had done well and he would nod in agreement. Treasured memories and love that now is different but still precious. Thank you for sharing your story.