Musings about my Dad

My apologies for not posting more than just the obligatory Mourning Doll updates, but I have been immersed with my Dad's impending death. I went home to my parents house for a few days and it really wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, in fact there was much laughter and happiness.

My Dad has become very childlike and extremely happy, he is in no pain and there is no depression. The only medicine he was taking when I arrived was just minor anti-depressants. The Hospice nurse showed up and said he probably has a week, maybe two which means I will be going back home again for a few days sometime this next week. But this time, I have accepted his inevitable passing and I am thankful that we had many moments of love and closure - for both of us.

His brain cancer has made it hard for him to carry out a single line of thought and he will ramble about something that he has plucked out of his past, his old Navy days, working out at Hanford (security guard at Hanford Nuclear Power Plant), hydroplane races, Wilson Creek, Washington where he grew up. It was like listening to a slide show of his life in fragments, but all of it was happy, happy snippets.

When I was sleeping in my old bedroom, I woke up to find my Dad hovering over my bed, which was kind of shocking considering that he can barely stand on his own! He was just as shocked to see me as I was him - I think he forgot that I was there. He began talking about how much he wants to go home, and talked about strangers who were standing behind him. I asked him if he knew any of them and he said yes, a few. I ran down the names of his long-dead siblings and he confirmed that some of them were indeed standing there.

I told him he didn't have to be afraid, they were there to help him and
that it was ok to go home, and he seemed very relieved to hear that. Then he started to sway unevenly, lost his balance, then backed up against the door jamb and slid down gently to the floor. I jumped out of bed and tried to hold him up but it was like holding up a bag of flour. I hollered for my Mom and she woke up, rushing in just in time as we tried to get Dad into the wheel chair, but he thought it was just the funniest damned thing he had ever been through and started laughing and joking around, his arms pretty much useless like wet noodles.

Mom and I tried and tried to get him to stand up and both Mom and I began laughing until all three of us were on the floor with Dad, laughing and crying at the same time, totally cracking up over the strangeness of it all. Once Mom got her breath, she got up and called paramedics while I stayed with Dad on the floor. We had a nice chat while he played footsie with my feet.

He just seemed so incredibly and deliriously happy, and was loving all the attention. The paramedics came (this was the second night in a row they showed up in order to get Dad off the floor) and they successfully got Dad back into his bed. Once he was finally tucked in, he was laughing and happy and fell into a blissful sleep. He said if we needed him, that he would be upstairs (we don't have an "upstairs" in my parents house).

Right before I left, I know now that Dad is feeling much better about letting go. The nurse put him on morphine because he was getting himself all wound-up-tight and was fidgety, like how he used to get right before going on a big road trip or vacation.
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Today:
I just got off the phone with my Mom and she said that Dad has taken a turn for the worse, his eyes are clouding over and one of his earlobes has shrunk (that is one of the signs of impending death, earlobes shrinking). He can no longer get out of bed and doesn't eat or drink and she thinks that that it is pretty close now.

My Mom and I are both OK with Dad's upcoming death, we have had 6 months to say good-bye, and that in itself is a lovely gift. Maybe it is because I have been researching all aspects of Death and have a better understanding about what to expect, and maybe for Mom, she has a better understanding about death through her genealogy research.

I say this because right now, there is a sort of giddy anticipation - the only thing I have to compare it too is what it must feel like waiting for the arrival of a birth, and this is what it feels like, Dad moving on to anther part of his being. Mom said that Dad has come to terms with death, to the point that he is getting his proverbial bags packed and preparing to go. I love you Dad! Bon Voyage!