My Father’s Death: “A Messenger of Joy”

6 min readAug 30, 2024

I found the liberation process of my father’s dying and death to be very moving, a form of ascended creative freedom. We both had been terrified of me finding his faded body at the end of his life, whenever that time would come.

But nearing Thursday, I asked our social worker if it would be better for him to pass in solitude or in the company of me and my mom.

Since grief, including pre-grief, as well as dying itself is quite personal, she replied:

“Think about the type of person he is.”

My father, like many men, struggled to be alone. I later teased at the service that he was a codependent, and so of course he would want to pass amongst family.

But it wasn’t solely out of fear and anxiety that he desired company. I believe the desire for connection originated from a desire to be loved in a way that he yearned for as a boy.

Of course, the moment he passed, I experienced sadness. But, to my surprise, after all the build-up and what I assumed was the immaleable molding of my mental health that dictated that I would cry at his bedside, wishing for him to resurrect (like Simba did with Mufasa), I smiled.

“Have you said everything you want to say?”

the social worker had asked.

Curiously, yes. It wasn’t like in the movies when the grown child holds the parent’s hand, with her head bowed low, wishing they had more time. All that was left was a brushing of his teeth, a watering of his tongue, the holding of his hand and head, and a series of prayers. And the sharing of a UFO sighting in California, one final moment of father and daughter normalcy.

But of course I cried. I was losing, at least in the material, my favorite conversation partner (my mom is tied for first), my beloved adventurer, my fellow green comic, my friend, and my father.

When sadness stems from love, it translates into gratitude. Relief cleanses the body as my loved one is liberated from the pain that transmutes mysteriously into joy.

How on earth death could be “a messenger of joy” was beyond me until the early morning prior to his mid-morning death in this material realm and rebirth in the spiritual.

Around 4am, I had a funny dream. I watched a skit between a man and two women at a restaurant, the details of which will remain personal. But believe it or not, I woke up quietly giggling. I know, how inappropriate given my father was breathing shallowly in the next room.

My dreamland had never welcomed humor, only worry, scattered scenarios, and the occasional vision that came true and manifested in the waking world. For this reason, I’m certain that my dad sent me this recent dream. He didn’t want me to be sad, but rather to learn that death is indeed a messenger of joy — a reminder that humor heals.

Over the past 5 years following his diagnosis and the unfolding of events on this planet, many of us took life too seriously. Little did I consciously know, I was missing the adventures, the laughter, the art.

To my surprise, reverent and irreverent humor flowed my and my sister’s eulogies at the service. Nearly all my jokes were unplanned (except it being “his thyme”). I wonder if after his ghostly spirit walked the cemetery site testing the soil for clay use, he held the figurative microphone.

My friend, my father, could almost always meet me in my lowest of lows. When others would call me too sensitive, he would suggest that sensitivity is a strength, an inspiration in fact, that when I’d reach the top of the next wave, an actively artistic way of life would be waiting in those waters. He reminded me that the bottom of the wave is just part of the process, but not to dwell there.

Regarding the creative process of his work, he wrote:

“In our lives, there are ebbs and tides. Sometimes you are at the top of a wave and you can see everything. Sometimes, you are at the bottom of the wave and you can only see the top of the wave behind you and in front of you…..what you need to understand is it is just part of your ocean. If you can see the top of the wave in front of you, then believe, if you just wait patiently, you will be delivered to it…today, I have to again remind myself of this ..I must know that, with time, I will be seeing from the top of the next wave…..but it’s hard”

“I wrote this to a fellow artist who was experiencing creative block. As I read it back to myself, I thought about Robin Williams and all of the rest of us that experience depression…..if only he could have been able to make it to the top of his next wave:

I’ve been through this before, many times. Being creative is like an ocean, there are ebbs and tides. Sometimes you are at the top of a wave and you can see everything. Sometimes, you are at the bottom of the wave and you can only see the top of the wave behind you and in front of you…..what you need to understand is it is just part of your ocean. If you can see the top of the wave in front of you, then believe, if you just wait patiently, you will be delivered to it…..I’ve found the best way for me is to start working, especially when I feel I can’t. ….before I know it, I’m alive and seeing from the top of the next wave.”

To all who I have comforted over my dad’s material death, do not fret. He lives within you. His soul is progressing. And no doubt, he is transforming into a witty angel.

Now get back to work.

About Walter Ivan Heath: Father, Husband, Clay Artist