My dad had a whistle.
It was the kind that didn’t matter what you were doing. Growing up, our world was to stop when Dad’s positioned fingers on the tip of his tongue and lips gave a forcible expulsion of breath. It was a call to attention that demanded ours. It was the kind that drew all six of us back together to the same place at the same time.
The Lord says, “When I whistle to them, they will come running.”
It’s weird that the world around us didn’t hear the whistle.
To and from I saw people going.
This and that I saw people doing.
But, I was just holding tightly.
Both of my hands were holding on to my dad’s right one with dear life.
I watched the monitoring instrument at the same time.
It was erratic at first
Until it wasn’t.
We watched his oxygen.
We saw his heart rate.
Until there were neither.
Everything stopped.
There were ticks and tocks that still seemed to matter to others.
One nurse rushed for another to get the official time.
I didn’t need the other nurse.
It was 5:40 PM.
I was there.
We all were.
All six of us in the same place at the same time.
For the last time.
It was his last whistle.
Zechariah 10:8
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