I am back home again.
I was at my parents house in the Tri-Cities, Washington for seven days. Time was entirely suspended, I did not watch the news, read the paper or get on the Internet. I promised myself that I wanted to devote my entire self in order to help my Dad. I arrived last Sunday and he was already bedridden, and could barely speak, he had deteriorated drastically since I last saw him which was just a mere three days earlier.
My Mother and I gave everything completely to my Dad, along with some wonderful help from Hospice and my Aunt Carol and cousin Stephanie. We strongly felt that Dad would not have wanted to go to Hospice or a hospital, but would have wanted to stay home to die, and to die in his own bed surrounded by his many pets (literally, there were four cats and a dog on his bed watching over him).
Thankfully, he was in no pain, and was cognizant up to the very end. I spent most of my time in his room, by his bedside holding his hand, giving him water if he wanted it and letting him know that Mom would be taken care of, as well as Grams and that he wouldn't have to worry about a thing, that it was OK to let go and pass on over to the other side.
10 or so family members came over early on Friday night to say a final good-bye to Dad and I encouraged everyone to go into Dad's room and sit on and around his bed and that we talk there rather than in the living room. I knew it was probably irritating the hell out of Dad being stuck in bed and everyone else was talking and laughing in the living room. Once everyone had gathered, you could tell that he enjoyed our company and was once again the center of attention, even though his communication at this point was his hand barely shaking mine.
His rasping was getting pretty intense on Friday night, and even though we administered morphine (per Hospice instructions) to help ease the rattle, it did no good. My Dad knew he was dying and you could just see the overwhelming sadness and anxiety filling his eyes. I cannot tell you how incredibly helpless I felt and I hoped that my just being there would at the very least ease whatever he was going through. Thursday and Friday nights were both incredibly intense for my Dad and my family, it was possibly the hardest thing I had ever gone through in my life. All we wanted to do was help him to pass through this as gently and with as much dignity as possible, and in the end, I know that we succeeded.
Mom and I spent the last 6 days pretty much going in and checking on Dad every 15 minutes just making sure he was dry, comfortable and in no pain. It reminded me of awaiting a birth in an odd sort of way, as if we were Midwives clucking around around the house, wondering if the water broke, if we needed to boil the water, get the torn and sterile rags ready. It felt as if the main goal was to encourage Dad to let go of his death-grip hold on this life and venture forward on towards his new path, wherever it may be.
My Mom continued sleeping right next to my Dad as she always had for 52 years. She said that he reached out and held her hand the other night while they slept. On Friday night as I was getting ready for bed, I gave my Dad his good-night kiss. It was as if we both knew that this would be our final good-night kiss.
I did not sleep well on Friday night and could hear Dad's death rattle all the way down the hall and into my old bedroom. I just laid there staring up at the ceiling crying, knowing my Dad was leaving my Mom and I with every labored breath, and of course not wanting him to go and yet, hoping he would let go in order to ease his own suffering.
I was going through my parents old photo albums and found a photo of my Dad that I had never even seen before. I immediately fell in love with this photo as I felt it summed up everything about my Dad's personality - he was around 24 when this photo was taken and as you can see, he was a sharp dresser. I also noticed that on the back of the photo written in my Dad's hand, that this was taken in October, 1957.
I was at my parents house in the Tri-Cities, Washington for seven days. Time was entirely suspended, I did not watch the news, read the paper or get on the Internet. I promised myself that I wanted to devote my entire self in order to help my Dad. I arrived last Sunday and he was already bedridden, and could barely speak, he had deteriorated drastically since I last saw him which was just a mere three days earlier.
My Mother and I gave everything completely to my Dad, along with some wonderful help from Hospice and my Aunt Carol and cousin Stephanie. We strongly felt that Dad would not have wanted to go to Hospice or a hospital, but would have wanted to stay home to die, and to die in his own bed surrounded by his many pets (literally, there were four cats and a dog on his bed watching over him).
Thankfully, he was in no pain, and was cognizant up to the very end. I spent most of my time in his room, by his bedside holding his hand, giving him water if he wanted it and letting him know that Mom would be taken care of, as well as Grams and that he wouldn't have to worry about a thing, that it was OK to let go and pass on over to the other side.
10 or so family members came over early on Friday night to say a final good-bye to Dad and I encouraged everyone to go into Dad's room and sit on and around his bed and that we talk there rather than in the living room. I knew it was probably irritating the hell out of Dad being stuck in bed and everyone else was talking and laughing in the living room. Once everyone had gathered, you could tell that he enjoyed our company and was once again the center of attention, even though his communication at this point was his hand barely shaking mine.
His rasping was getting pretty intense on Friday night, and even though we administered morphine (per Hospice instructions) to help ease the rattle, it did no good. My Dad knew he was dying and you could just see the overwhelming sadness and anxiety filling his eyes. I cannot tell you how incredibly helpless I felt and I hoped that my just being there would at the very least ease whatever he was going through. Thursday and Friday nights were both incredibly intense for my Dad and my family, it was possibly the hardest thing I had ever gone through in my life. All we wanted to do was help him to pass through this as gently and with as much dignity as possible, and in the end, I know that we succeeded.
Mom and I spent the last 6 days pretty much going in and checking on Dad every 15 minutes just making sure he was dry, comfortable and in no pain. It reminded me of awaiting a birth in an odd sort of way, as if we were Midwives clucking around around the house, wondering if the water broke, if we needed to boil the water, get the torn and sterile rags ready. It felt as if the main goal was to encourage Dad to let go of his death-grip hold on this life and venture forward on towards his new path, wherever it may be.
My Mom continued sleeping right next to my Dad as she always had for 52 years. She said that he reached out and held her hand the other night while they slept. On Friday night as I was getting ready for bed, I gave my Dad his good-night kiss. It was as if we both knew that this would be our final good-night kiss.
I did not sleep well on Friday night and could hear Dad's death rattle all the way down the hall and into my old bedroom. I just laid there staring up at the ceiling crying, knowing my Dad was leaving my Mom and I with every labored breath, and of course not wanting him to go and yet, hoping he would let go in order to ease his own suffering.
I was going through my parents old photo albums and found a photo of my Dad that I had never even seen before. I immediately fell in love with this photo as I felt it summed up everything about my Dad's personality - he was around 24 when this photo was taken and as you can see, he was a sharp dresser. I also noticed that on the back of the photo written in my Dad's hand, that this was taken in October, 1957.
Early Saturday morning, Mom woke me up around 6 am saying that Dad was no longer doing the raspy breathing, instead it was a gentle and quiet breathing. I immediately got dressed and sat next to him and I could tell, I knew we were rounding the bend this time.
I held his hand which was now clammy and mottled purple, and he no longer responded to my voice or touch. I watched his chest rise and fall, his breaths coming slower and slower apart. I gently talked to him, telling Dad that the finish line was just in sight, and that I was rooting for him to cross over that line.
I told him there was going to be a big party on the other side and that his old friends would be there waiting for him, Curly, Whitey, Shorty, and Bob Wart, along with his brothers Jack, Marvin, and Andrew and his sisters, Katherine, Lottie, and Bertha. His mom and dad would be waiting there too, and most important were his long-dead beloved pets, Ming, Tang, Coco, Snoopy, Blackie, Buffy, Ginger and a many, many more.
Then I felt his hand tighten around mine, slowly raise up, and then gently fall back on his chest. His face clenched just ever so slightly and then it was like something let go - and he was gone. It was then I immediately felt his presence leave. First there was a feeling of relief and happiness for him letting go and then that crashing sudden anguish when I realized that I had just lost my Daddy. The trinity of my Mother, my Father and me had now been reduced to just two.
When Hospice showed up a short time later, I pulled out his Hanford Security uniform and the very nice Hospice lady first washed and then dressed my Dad. When we saw him there on the bed in his old Hanford uniform, we were all literally awash in tears, his uniform fit him perfectly. He looked so dignified and I thought he even looked a little like Robert E. Lee. The transformation was amazing, especially considering what Dad had just been through.
The First-Call man came and my cousin Stephanie and I helped put my Dad on the gurney and zip up the lovely and soft purple corduroy body bag. I noticed it was a very nice bag and thought my Dad would have loved it also. We rolled him out to the living room and I made certain that Dad left the house, feet first (old Victorian custom).
We stood on the front steps and watched as Dad was loaded up in the back of the van, and then it began to drive away. We waved and as we waved with tears streaming down our faces, we said Good-Bye Dad, Good-Bye.
Seeing my Dad leave the house that he loved so much for the very last time was probably the hardest, but seeing the van turn the corner until it was out of view nearly did me in.
I love you Dad and you cannot imagine just how much I already miss you.
My Dad at his favorite vacation spot in Lincoln City, Oregon,
wearing the robe that I bought him for his birthday.
wearing the robe that I bought him for his birthday.
