In today’s blog, we’ve got a special guest: Susan Ariel Gosinheimer-Douglas, the baby daughter of the late Ralph Brandon Gosinheimer.
Hello, Everyone.
I’ve had a couple of days to think about what I wanted to say. I knew that I wanted to thank each and every one of you for your prayers, your words of encouragement, and your condolences during my bereavement. It’s not easy losing a parent—believe me. I’m 51 years old, and I thought that my dad’s passing would be a little easier on me. Let me tell you—it ain’t no easier, even at my age. My next door neighbor Ms. Vivian said to me, “You could live to be as old as Methuselah—when your parents go home, it’s still gonna be tough on ya, Baby.”
And Ms. Vivian was not lying about that.
My mind goes back to this past Thanksgiving, when Bret and I saw my dad for what would be the last time. My sister Angie and I took a picture with Dad on November 27. Angie told Dad that she would get the film developed that week, to which Dad said, “I tell you what, Pumpkin—you and Susie can do what you wish, but I won’t need a copy because I know what y’all look like.” When Bret and I were set to leave Atlanta on November 28, Dad hugged me very tightly, and he kissed me on the eye. Then he said to me, “Take care of yourself, Susie Q, and know that Daddy loves ya.”
On November 29 at around 9 a.m. PST, I felt a jolt throughout my body. I didn’t think anything of it until five minutes later, when my mom called and told me that Dad went to Heaven. She told me how his transition was a peaceful one, and how she was right there to witness him take his last breath. It was then that I realized what my dad meant when he said that Angie and I could keep the picture that we took. I also understood why he kissed me on my eye—that was his way of saying, “See ya later, Susie Q!”
My final comments are simple—they’re the same comments that I made at my dad’s homegoing: For those of you who still have your dad with you, be grateful and cherish him, because he is your dad.
And Dad, thanks for taking such good care of me, Angie, and Mom. Until I see you again in Heaven, I love you.
Hello, Everyone.
I’ve had a couple of days to think about what I wanted to say. I knew that I wanted to thank each and every one of you for your prayers, your words of encouragement, and your condolences during my bereavement. It’s not easy losing a parent—believe me. I’m 51 years old, and I thought that my dad’s passing would be a little easier on me. Let me tell you—it ain’t no easier, even at my age. My next door neighbor Ms. Vivian said to me, “You could live to be as old as Methuselah—when your parents go home, it’s still gonna be tough on ya, Baby.”
And Ms. Vivian was not lying about that.
My mind goes back to this past Thanksgiving, when Bret and I saw my dad for what would be the last time. My sister Angie and I took a picture with Dad on November 27. Angie told Dad that she would get the film developed that week, to which Dad said, “I tell you what, Pumpkin—you and Susie can do what you wish, but I won’t need a copy because I know what y’all look like.” When Bret and I were set to leave Atlanta on November 28, Dad hugged me very tightly, and he kissed me on the eye. Then he said to me, “Take care of yourself, Susie Q, and know that Daddy loves ya.”
On November 29 at around 9 a.m. PST, I felt a jolt throughout my body. I didn’t think anything of it until five minutes later, when my mom called and told me that Dad went to Heaven. She told me how his transition was a peaceful one, and how she was right there to witness him take his last breath. It was then that I realized what my dad meant when he said that Angie and I could keep the picture that we took. I also understood why he kissed me on my eye—that was his way of saying, “See ya later, Susie Q!”
My final comments are simple—they’re the same comments that I made at my dad’s homegoing: For those of you who still have your dad with you, be grateful and cherish him, because he is your dad.
And Dad, thanks for taking such good care of me, Angie, and Mom. Until I see you again in Heaven, I love you.
