For the past several months, my father was on oxygen at home. The constant "whirrrr, hisss" of the machine had become normal around my parents' house. We had become accustomed to making sure his tube - or what he and I called his lead rope - was out of the way and not going to be tripped over.
Now the silence in this house is piercing.
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On Saturday, my dad texted me and said could I come home early. He was complaining that his usual nurse's aid was driving him up the wall. I skipped riding Hampton, and was home by noon. He let the aid go home early and resumed his normal routine of naps, small snacks of food, and watching YouTube in the kitchen.
But I think he knew.
On Sunday we had our family Christmas. He had a good day. Up and about, ate pretty well and seemed to have very little pain.
I got him a throw blanket that was embroidered "Pray, Hope, Don't worry." He loved it. I sat next to him as he watched us open gifts, laughing at his hysterical granddaughters and taking it all in.
I think he knew.
As luck would have it, that night my tooth fell out. My father was already in bed for the night, but even in his morphine induced state - he promptly called his own dentist who fit me in the next morning for a look. That was my dad. Always protecting me, always my safety net.
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| Helping me with halter breaking one of our Morgans. |
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On Monday morning, I saw the dentist who confirmed what I knew - it had to come out. So I made an appointment for Wednesday. However, I planned to go home Monday to get clothes and whatnot.
Monday late morning my dad and I were sitting at the kitchen table. We had jello (it would be the last thing he ate). I finished his grilled cheese. We watched more YouTube. He sent the nurse's aid home early AGAIN. He asked me to stay. Of course I said I would. He used the nurse and my tooth as an excuse.
But he knew.
Shortly after he laid down for his usual nap, he called out for me and needed morphine. I gave him some, it wasn't out of the ordinary. Shortly after that, he called for me again and said to call the hospice nurse. He was having pain that was abnormal. He remained stoic and calm. He said he was also having a little trouble breathing. I took his stats and in his O2 was in the 60s!! Yes he was still lucid and talking.
When the hospice nurse got there, she managed to get him more comfortable. I asked her if I should call my mom (who was at work), and tell her to come home.
The nurse looked at me and said "Yes."
And that is when
I knew.
It was me and my mother on Monday night caring for him. He woke up briefly to try and use the restroom. The image of my father - a stoic and dignified man - slumped over on the toilet broke my heart into a million pieces. We called a priest. He was over within the hour. When the priest walked in the door, he said to myself and my mom, "You know - he called me last week and said 'I think I need to see you.'"
My father knew. He was preparing.
Monday night at 4 am he woke up 100% lucid again! I was dozing on a chair in the living room, and my mother woke me up and said "Your father is asking for you."
As I entered his room he said, "Well, honey, I am going to pass."
I was stunned and speechless. That was my father. Stoic, and matter-of-fact. I stayed with him for a while. Putting my arm around him and assuring him things would be ok. It would be the last time we could have a full conversation with him. His last words of advice were, "Take care of each other."
As Wednesday rolled around he began to slip away a little. I am 100% certain he could hear us. I said everything I wanted to say to him. He could whisper "I love you too" back to me. And he could squeeze my hand.
On Thursday it was obvious that his body was in the process of actively dying. He ran a temp of 101, his heart rate was above 100. I could see his carotid artery pulsing in his neck. He had very little urine output - and what did come out was bloody. His body was shutting down.
Even still, he could hear us. He would sometimes lift his hand as if he wanted to say something. Or move his mouth. He briefly opened his eyes and looked at me - one last time. We gave him permission to go.
Thursday's sunset was gorgeous. I am not religious. I fall more into the agnostic spectrum, but that night there was a strange energy in the air. My mother whispered "God is coming to get him." Even as an agnostic, there was no denying that the energy was shifting.
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| The sunset Thursday night. |
Thursday night he started to become more restless, and develop the "death rattle." Friday morning I was in the kitchen and heard him moan from the room. I don't think he was lucid, but I think he was starting to experience air hunger. I took a Valium (sorry but yes I had to have help during this process. I'm not strong enough), and laid down on the couch.
At about 10:15 am my mother shrieked - "Kids come in here right now!".
My mother is a stoic, quiet women. Nothing phases her. That shriek will not leave my head. I lept off the couch (along with my siblings) and we ran into his room.
He took a few shallow gasps. Then one big sigh. One more gasp - the ceyne stokes breathing - and then ... just stopped.
I couldn't find his pulse. 10:20 a.m.
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While watching my father die was incredibly devastating, it was also one of the most profound and beautiful experiences of my life.
Death is like watching a birth, only in reverse. My family looked at me very weird when I said so. But that is how I look at it. There is a shift in energy. A moment of transition. What an honor and a privilege to help him leave.
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After he was taken from the home by the funeral home, I had a strange sensation of a presence, or a slight pressure on my shoulder blades.
A small smile crept across my lips.
Now I knew what he knew.
Everything will be ok.
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He is no longer in pain. Cancer has lost. My dad is the victor here.
He has been released into whatever comes next after life. I feel so much peace and relief for him. Yes my heart is broken, shattered. I will never be the same. But isn't that the sign of true love? I will take his pain and make it my own.
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My father was my first love. My hero. My protector. My biggest supporter. He was everything to me. Perhaps there is some freudian reason I have never gotten married. No man will EVER measure up. No one is good enough.
Life will go on, and I'll eventually be ok.
So take care of each other.
You never know.
