Dadaee is Gone

Dadaee died yesterday at the age of 90. I'm glad we had so much time with him, but it doesn't lessen the pain and emptiness that is felt. Fortunately he didn't suffer for very long. We are meeting with someone from the funeral home today. I have never done this before so treading on new territory. Will write more later. At least I slept some last night. Can't figure out how to find a photo of him on Mom's computer so will have to wait on that. If you want to see one, under December 1, 2009, he's in the wheelchair. Will post better ones later.

Updated 3/18/2010 - Below I've copied what I wrote immediately after the fact.

Dadaee passed away on Friday March 5th around 3:30pm at St. Agnes in the emergency room.


By his side were his loving wife Jasmine and his devoted daughter Patti. He only suffered for less than an hour.

Mom had called me at work when she found out that Dadaee had passed out at home and was en route to the emergency room via ambulance. I called her again about an hour later, and she was just getting to the hospital. Then Frank called around 3:40pm and asked me if we could get down there now. We left, grabbed some clothes and got there around 5:15pm.

Mom called me while we were on route, and during our conversation, she let me know that he was already gone. It was very hard to hear that he had already gone, and that I had not been able to say goodbye; however, I was thankful that Mimi and Mom were both there with him at that time. I went in and Mom and Mimi were with him there. We were waiting until the funeral home came for his body. Guy didn't want to go in, and he preferred to remember Dadaee as he was before. I welcomed the chance to say goodbye and have the finality. I know that Mimi did, as she kept kissing and hugging his head and crying and talking to him, so that was nice.

This is all so fresh, that sometimes it just hits you in a wave that he's really gone. For now, it's like he's at home, or in the hospital. But when I was at the house last night, looking at all his dymo-labeled photo albums and carefully typed recipes in an Ararat notebook, it's painfully clear that there is a large hole in our family that will never completely fill back up.