Strong willed warrior, brave ruler, bold friend. Those are the words that define William Richard Baldwin, the names and the person. The evening we were told to come as soon as possible if we wanted to say goodbye to dad, my sisters and I booked flights for the next morning since we'd missed the last flights for the day. Dad was cancer free and dying from a cold that his ravaged body could not fight.
After a sleepless night and a pre-panic attack in the airport security line, I ran for my gate. Approaching the gate I saw the plane was already boarded, I made eye contact with the man behind the gate desk. I pointed to the door and he nodded. He nodded as if he knew why I was so desperate to make that flight. I had not received a phone call yet, so I knew there was still a chance. Boarding the full flight, I chose the empty aisle seat next to a man and his son. Sleep would not come on that flight, but the tears would. In long, silent streams. Trying to breathe deeply and not make the man next to me so uncomfortable that he would worry for his son. I did not eat. I did not drink. I did not read. I only wiped the tears as they came.
As we approached the Rocky Mountains for my brief layover in Denver, I looked across to the window. I could see nothing, but the amazing expanse of white snow that seemed to blanket eternity. It felt disorienting. The snow was masking the typical geometric farmscapes. The clean lines that tell us, ‘this is North, this is South' and give us boundaries craved for like a child. I don’t remember ever seeing anything like it before. I recalled that in Japan black is not the color of death; it's white. And I thought I got it before. But now I understood why with a whole new level of gravity and sorrow. This white I was taking in was beautiful, full of nothingness and it went on forever.
As the plane descended, I had a vision of my dad on a horse. He was riding his horse, Shi, in a full open gallop; the kind that feels like you are actually flying. I could only see him from behind as he was riding away from me. As I exited the plane, Lynn was standing directly ahead with big tears streaming from her face. We embraced and cried with complete abandon. We did not care who witnessed our sorrow. When we were ok enough, we went to the ladies room and then to our gate. Veronica had called us while in the bathroom. Lynn called her back. She told us that dad had passed about 10 minutes prior, as I was landing. She told us the nurses had never seen someone in such bad shape fight so hard to hold on. I know he wanted us to be able to see him again and say goodbye. But we had missed it. He was gone.
We boarded for Spokane where we waited for Edy and shared our funny dad stories. Edy arrived much the way Lynn and I met in Denver, crying as she saw us. The three of us embraced and cried and did not care what it looked like. From the luggage carousel, we grabbed the farty-flower suitcase Granny lent her and went to the curb where Veronica and Sage waited. Sage loaded our bags into the back of their Excursion as the four of us cried and hugged. Our hero had departed this world for the greener pastures of the Garden. Body healed, spirit reconciled.
On the way to Sandpoint, we enjoyed lots of laughs and tears. Veronica told us about dad’s last hours and final minutes. We told funny stories of childhood and made irreverent jokes that my dad would have loved. We drove directly to the funeral home. We went into the room where dad lay. He was not yet embalmed. He looked so peaceful and beautiful. He looked as though he could just take a deep breath and sit up. We kept looking at his chest waiting for it to rise and fall, rise and fall. To touch him felt very, very cold, but it felt real. Not that waxy, hardness embalming creates. We stroked his hair, we kissed his forehead, we held his hand. The four of us joined hands and thanked God for our father. One by one we said our goodbyes; first Veronica, then me. As I left the room, Edy was saying her goodbye. I turned to see her hug him and I swear it looked like he smiled. I know how corny and ridiculous that sounds, but it’s what I saw.
We spoke of the details of my father’s wishes with the funeral director. All of us were running on a couple hours of sleep. We drank large margaritas, ate big plates of food and went to the hotel.
For the next week we took care of the business that must be tended to when loved ones pass. We would live in his cabin on my sister's property. We would itch like junkies for the faintest of signals to make its way through the pine trees so we could communicate with the outside world. We would feed apples to his horses. We would marvel at our beautiful and intelligent nieces and nephews. We would weep over photos from our childhood found locked in a briefcase. We would feel inexplicably vulnerable without our dad.
The evening before we left, we stopped to say goodbye one last time before he was to be cremated. No longer in a hospital gown, he was again a cowboy wearing a western dress shirt and his wranglers. The hardest thing I have ever done is walking out of that room and leaving him behind; knowing I would not see him again in this life. I did not want to leave him. I still cannot believe I left him there. I want more. More time, more laughs, more love, more...
