I stayed with my dad the night before he died. In October, I blogged about the sounds I heard. I forgot to write about a companion that sat with me and my dad.

A fly landed, almost out of nowhere, on the lip of my father’s mouth. It walked around, almost like it was inspecting my dad’s body. I thought, “please, the guy’s almost dead, let him have some dignity.” The fly moved to my dad’s chest and then to my leg and walked around.

I sat looking at the fly for I don’t know how long. I watched it clean itself. I watched it move around. I thought what if my dad became the fly and now he’s walking around looking at himself and at me.

A week or so later, my sister and brother drove my dad’s cremated remains to Minnesota to bury. We kept a cup of his remains to let go in a creek at Beaver National Park, a park we visited as children with him. As we arrived at Beaver, a fly landed on the driver’s side window. It stayed on the window as we drove into the park and to the parking spot, for a few minutes. Minutes later, the rest of dad was part of nature.

Last modified on 2026-02-28