My sister told me that in Chinese medicine (don't quote me on this, and I don't know if it's one branch of medicine or just in general), grief is carried in the lungs. This rang true to me as I spent most of the month of February with a chest cold. Usually when I get sick I start with a sore throat and it progresses from there into my nose and head before finally descending into my chest. However, this particular cold skipped all that head stuff and just slammed right into my chest. Not only does this help me make sense of my own world, but it helps me make sense of my dad's as well.
The prologue to this story is that 11 years ago, when my mom got diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease, my dad was diagnosed with something at the same time. It is called interstitial lung disease. That's a word I learned how to spell in a hurry because I typed it about 1000 times during the month of January. It's a progressive scarring of lung tissue, probably caused by exposure to something dangerous like a chemical. It's not treatable. It's slow moving. It totally took a back seat to my mom's diagnosis of Alzheimer's disease. Frankly, I forgot to think about it ever again. I think the same was true for my dad. It was simply not a topic that ever came up, nor did I ever hear about any follow up to the diagnosis.
Fast forward to Christmas of 2019. My dad spent quite a bit of time with us over the holidays, and we had a nice time with him. We did notice, not only over the holiday but in the preceding weeks as well, that dad was slower, was more shuffling, and was definitely experiencing times of confusion. We were pretty concerned about him, and wondered if he was starting to have some issues with dementia. We knew we had to address the issue, and had started talking to him about looking for an independent living situation after Christmas.
Margaret was in town for the holidays, and I'm so grateful she was. I feel guilty saying it, but the holidays can be hard when you have aging parents. I mean, you have to give a lot of attention to your own family, your own celebrations and gifts and all those things you juggle, plus you are concerned about their age and loneliness and sadness. So it was nice for Margaret to be there to help provide him with company and celebration. But then dad called me just two days after Christmas, on Friday the 27th, to tell me he had caught a terrible cold and wasn't feeling very well. Margaret took a load off of my shoulders by taking on the task of seeing to his needs - bringing him medicine and soup and tea and telling him to rest. We wanted to give him sleep aids but since he lives alone and already has times of confusion, we didn't dare do that. She tried to go back over there that evening but he said no thank you, that he just wanted to go to sleep. Margaret and I agreed to meet over at his home the next morning around 9:00 to be with him and help.
I arrived first. I let myself in through his garage like I always do, and went inside. Dad was not in the kitchen, or his living room, or anywhere upstairs. I looked for him downstairs and couldn't find him. I raced back upstairs to find his shoes, keys and phone all sitting on the counter. Talk about a heart-pounding nightmare. I was just panicking and calling Margaret when I got a phone call from dad's neighbor Joyce, who (thank heavens!) was calling to tell me that my dad had wandered over to her house, seemed completely confused, and that she was really worried about him. I went over there and indeed, dad seemed absolutely lost and was saying things that made no sense, like that he heard that his neighbors were the only people on the block with a phone charger and so he just had to go over there. I'll always remember his big wide eyes looking at me as he tried to make sense of what was going on.
I can't really express how frantic and anxious and stressed I was. I really wanted a grownup to come help me. But Margaret and I had to be the grownups and take care of everything. Luckily Margaret came over soon. We got dad home, we got him on the couch and resting, and then we had a serious talk about what to do. It's interesting to remember the course of that day, how, as the hours went by, our realization of the seriousness of the situation increased. At first we thought he just needed sleep. Then we thought that he was truly showing signs of dementia and we needed to stay with him for the weekend and then look for an independent living situation starting Monday. Then we realized that we were going to need help caring for him over the weekend and started making calls to Visiting Angels and companies like that. Finally, we got him to take a nap in his bed while Margaret ran for supplies and got us some food. I got on the phone with Sheri who recommended a trip to the ER, that dad might have a bladder infection, which often causes confusion. Finally I realized that was what we had to do - a few people earlier in the day had suggested that but we resisted, thinking that dementia couldn't be treated in the ER, but finally Sheri made me see we needed to do this. Margaret returned, we ate a few bites of food, and then we headed down stairs to wake up dad and tell him we were taking him to the hospital.
In all honesty, I truly believe that if we had not woken him up from that nap he never would have woken up again, for reasons I'll explain in a minute. I have struggled with many deep feelings of guilt over that day, that Margaret and I didn't get him help sooner, that we resisted going to the hospital. We woke him up and he was nearly delirious. He said he wanted a shower, and Margaret (I barely helped) got him in. He couldn't remember how to shower, and he could barely walk. It took both of us to dress him and get him upstairs to the car, taking one very slow step at a time, me leading the way and Margaret walking behind him, both of us steadying him and being terrified that he would tumble over. He was so unsteady.
I drove dad in his Honda to the UofU while Margaret followed behind in her car. It was the Saturday after Christmas and I was supposed to be going to a party in Heber; Troy's family always celebrates Christmas the Saturday after. I had been gone for the whole day already, and my sweet husband was just hopeful that I could eventually join them. We arrived at the ER, and I had to go inside to get help - there was no way dad could walk in to the hospital. We got him settled in a wheelchair and wrapped in a blanket. Margaret got herself parked and said she could totally handle it from here and that I should go to the party.
I pulled out of the hospital driveway and began to make my way towards the freeway. I don't think I drove more than a mile though before my phone was buzzing with a frantic call from Margaret. She sounded very faint and told me that I needed to come back right away. Dad was in very serious danger. She said that as soon as he was seen by the triage nurse his blood oxygen level was measured and it came up reading only in the 40s. How he was alive was a miracle. And then a handful of docs and nurses descended on him and whisked him off to a trauma bay. Margaret could hardly keep from fainting and couldn't even go in the room. I returned to the hospital, met Margaret in the room and we were very nearly not allowed in with dad because of all of the people rushing around him.
The short story is that dad had the flu. A very bad case of it. And his oxygen sats were so low that he was immediately placed on a high-flow oxygen machine to save his life. At this point I will tell you that I wonder if dad would have really preferred us to not have woken him up from that nap, for him to just have peacefully gone in his sleep that day. However, this day began a three-week experience that was indeed very challenging but also some of the dearest time I ever had with my dad and my siblings and I am so grateful that his life was saved that day in order to grant us the next three weeks.
Margaret and I both got on the phone with our brothers to alert them to what was happening. By then we knew dad had the flu and didn't think his life was in danger but both boys felt very strongly that they needed to come to Salt Lake right then, and they both did. Adam couldn't get in from Seattle until the next day, but Peter was there that night. After a few hours in the Emergency Department, during which time my dear beloved friends Martin and Blair came and gave my dad a priesthood blessing, dad was moved upstairs to the ICU. He was still very jumbled in his thinking and speaking and it was very scary for all of us. In fact, I remember getting him settled and going downstairs with Margaret and Peter to the little cafeteria to just take a moment, and Peter saying that he just had a feeling that we were going to lose dad, and Margaret sobbing uncontrollably while we were standing there.
Margaret, Adam and Peter were all able to stay for about a week. Dad only spent a couple of days in the ICU then was moved to the pulmonary unit to begin a slow recovery. We all took turns staying with dad and being together as much as we could. It was often alarming as dad took many days to begin speaking with sense. Clearly he had been without enough oxygen for quite some time and he was often in some level of delirium. Oh and I'm still traumatized remembering what a struggle it was to get dad to not try to get up to use the bathroom and also keep his oxygen on. That was rough. But despite that, it was actually a very sweet time in a lot of ways. We had a lot of time together with just us five Romneys. Troy and I spent our 22nd anniversary in dad's hospital room - not exactly a glamorous evening out, but it was poignant to say the least. Also New Year's Eve. No big parties this year. Just quiet time at the hospital. We laughed a lot, we talked a lot, we shared a lot. Oh and we ate out a LOT. Turns out that I just love a Sunday morning brunch with my siblings. I think it was that first Sunday after Christmas that the four of us had our first brunch together instead of going to church or anything like that - that was the day after the ER trip and Adam had just arrived, so we really needed to talk. I just adore my siblings and loved every minute I had with them.
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First Sunday Morning Brunch - Pig and A Jelly Jar |
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| Troy and I even spent our 22nd anniversary together in the hospital. Not quite the romantic getaway some people would go for but the fact that Troy was there with me was all the romance I needed. |
School was about ready to start again and I'm very lucky because I am in a position where I could just tell my work that I needed time off. They just let me not be there. My kids started back to school, everyone went back to work, and I took that week to just be with my dad. I went and saw him multiple times a day, and his very favorite thing was for me to come in the evenings, stopping for a couple of pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream on my way up there. We would sit together in his room and eat ice cream and talk. He still wasn't totally himself much of time, but we did have a lot of nice conversations. I will also always remember how during those days of coming and going from the hospital multiple times a day I was filled with a great sense of goodwill towards all those around me. As I came and went and rode endlessly up and down in those elevators, I felt a great love towards my fellow hospital-visitors and found myself going out of my way to be as friendly and helpful as possible. I don't know what it was that made me feel extra empathetic, but it's a lasting impression I have of my time there.
It was fun to be with dad as many of his friends came to visit him. I was definitely the sibling in charge of communicating with his friends and not only did I get to spread the news about his illness, but I was there as the Nagels came, and Tony Morgan, the Whipples, Warren Tate...and I spent a lot of time texting, emailing and talking on the phone with many of these dear people. A lot of them were out of town as they had traveled the week after Christmas and New Years, so I was only able to text them. One wonderful visit was from Lorin Pugh. He had been in Hawaii and was very anxious to hear about dad's illness. The evening he finally returned I was there when he came rushing into dad's room. Seeing those reunions with beloved friends always made me teary. Dear friends like those are one of the great blessings of this life, and I love my parents' friends so much.
It was exactly during Lorin's visit that we started getting a bigger picture of dad's illness and just how serious it was. I was glad to have Lorin there while a doctor came in and talked to us about dad's lungs, and how he might not be able to ever get off of high flow oxygen again. I know it was shocking for him. We all thought dad just needed to recover from the flu, and were expecting steady progress during that whole week of January 6, but he just wasn't decreasing his need for the huge amounts of high-flow oxygen. There were times that he would talk to me about how he wanted to die peacefully at home instead of at the hospital, and I thought his mind was just wandering again. I would ask his nurses about it and they would tell me that he was not actively dying so they weren't sure why he was talking about that. Dad would get very intent and direct and want to plan his death. Dad had always been someone who talked a lot about his own death, had always made it very clear that he didn't want any extreme measures to prolong his life. I mean, this had been since I was a child. And now that seemed to be all he could focus on, to the point that I found myself in a meeting with the palliative care team, confused because I thought we were still waiting for dad to recover.
It had been on Sunday the 5th that I went up for a visit and got pulled aside by the pulmonary department's top doctor, Dr. Raman. I guess this person had already been speaking to dad and that's why dad was totally fixated on dying. Dr. Raman and I had a long talk in the hallway and I didn't cry once during the whole thing. That came afterwards, when I walked into dad's room and he could see on my face the conversation I had just had. Then I couldn't hold my tears back. Basically Dr. Raman reminded us all about dad's interstitial lung disease, and that although dad had pretty much recovered from the flu, his lungs were permanently damaged. Probably they had been in very bad shape for a long time, explaining much of his confusion and struggles in the months leading up to Christmas. It was, Dr. Raman told me, unlikely that dad would ever be able to get off of high-flow oxygen. And no place but a hospital could support dad's oxygen need. He would have to just sit in a hospital bed for the rest of his life and dad was not okay with that. I mean, who would be? It was somewhat horrible to me, to think about deciding to take him home and turn off oxygen and just watch him die. We had a lot of questions about pain and suffering. Talking with my dad after that was very emotional, and even worse was getting through the hospital, out to the car, and home to where I needed to call my siblings and have a really frank talk that shocked all of them. We really thought we were headed for an assisted living home, and although Dr. Raman told us that perhaps that could still happen, he felt it was extremely unlikely. We decided to see how the week progressed.
However, a few days later it seemed like a miracle happened and dad was able to use less oxygen than he had been before. He was able to use a regular cannula instead of the high-flow monster tubes he had been using. There was really no reason for him to be at the hospital any more if his oxygen needs were decreasing, although his still had a very long way to go to reach recovery or even the ability to live in his new assisted living apartment. As a family we decided to move him to a rehabilitation center so he could continue his steady progress. A word of advice? Never move a loved one from a hospital to a rehab center on a Friday night. The people who work there from 9-5 on weekdays who plan patient's care and oversee the continuity of care won't be there. We had a rough weekend. I have pretty dark memories and feelings about those first couple of days. It was kind of icky and sparse, and I think most people in the rehab center needed much less care than my dad needed. I was horribly uncomfortable leaving him there, even though I did my best to make it more homey for him, with his own quilt and a picture of mom and some DVDs. It still felt crappy to leave him there. He was confused and lonely as well. Yuck. I hate thinking about it. The worst part was that dad was still recovering from the flu and had a really bad cough. This cough caused him a great deal of pain. He would cough and just cry out. It was terrible. The nurses at the facility didn't seem ready to be helping someone who had acute issues like that - I had a hard time even getting him any pain medication to help him. Honestly, we probably took him away from the hospital before we should have. Bad weekend.
On Monday the 13th, my dear sister came back in to town. I was so ready for her to come - I was pretty exhausted from spending so much time with dad, caring for his house and his mail and bills and friends and doctors and all of the communicating. I needed a few days, and I needed to get back to work. Margaret was able to just be present and be there with him every minute, which was comforting to me. It had been so hard for me to balance the needs of my kids and husband with the needs of my very ill father. Troy was just wonderful and made me as free as he possibly could though I know it was hard having me gone constantly. I was grateful for that time, and also it seemed like dad was on his way along the path to some level of recovery. Also, with Monday morning came the regular staff at the rehab center. Margaret was wonderful at finding the right people to discuss dad's issues with and create a better overall plan. Our hero was a woman named Leanne - I think she was nursing director on that floor. She was fantastic at helping us understand what was happening and making sure dad was getting the care that he needed.
At that time I wasn't working on Mondays, so I just took that day to do laundry, run errands, get a little caught up. On Tuesday I finally went back to work after two weeks of Christmas break and a week away with my dad. I spent the morning getting caught up there and feeling glad to see the rest of the staff at the elementary school, felt like I was coming back from another planet after all that I had been through for the previous two weeks. Lunchtime came and I went outside with my recess-partner Ellie and we were talking and processing. Suddenly my sister called, and she was absolutely beside herself. A doctor had come to see dad and she noticed his horrible painful cough and realized that he probably had a hernia. This was not good news. Then she did an exam of his abdomen and saw large bruises and she made the assessment that dad had internal bleeding. Dad was taking a medication to thin his blood due to an aortic valve replacement 15 years ago and so this bleeding was very serious. In fact she told Margaret that dad could only have a few days left or possibly only a few hours. Thus she called me and frantically told me I needed to come, and that we needed to get our brothers here. Dad's two sisters were already on their way from Nevada and Maryland. Of course I immediately began weeping - Ellie send me inside where I fell into the hug of our dear secretary Cindy. She comforted me and shooed me away, telling me just to not worry about the computer lab for the time being.
I rushed to the rehab center where our nurse friend Leanne had performed an ultrasound of dad's abdomen, and she said that there was no visible blood in the abdominal cavity. It sounded like it had been a scare for us but should be okay. Even so, Leanne told us, dad was not out of the woods and as Margaret described it, was still standing on very thin branches. That afternoon Margaret and I enjoyed spending time with my dad and his two sisters. It was ever so much more cheery than the weekend had been. The four of us even slipped away to a yarn store so we could each choose some yarn for a project to work on while we sat at dad's side. (I went with self-striping sock yarn.)
Well, later that evening, I got a call from the doctor who had examined dad. She told me that she truly believed that dad had internal bleeding and that probably it didn't show on the ultrasound because it was inside the muscles, not inside the cavity. It was such a roller coaster. Not just this day but the whole experience. It felt like every couple of hours our expectations and fears would change. Okay, not okay, about to die, going to get better. Total emotional whiplash. It is actually all a little foggy. Basically, from Tuesday to Thursday, we got to the point where we finally realized that dad was not going to get better. He really did have internal bleeding and he had a hernia. It would not be possible to operate on him - his lung issue made it such that he would almost certainly pass away during surgery and if not that then he would be on a ventilator, which dad refused, understandably. It was time to take him home and let hospice help us care for him for as long as he had. And from moment to moment we didn't know if that would be a few hours, a few days. or a few weeks.
Some memories from those few days in the rehab center were the night that his girlfriend Char came to see him. She brought us a ton of really delicious pizza that had thinly sliced potatoes on it. She scootched into the bed next to him and they sat and held hands and ate pizza and talked quietly. That was very sweet. We also had a nice lunch with dad's sisters and his brother, my uncle Mike and Mike's wife Marian, also their daughter Luanne. We got yummy take out sandwiches (clearly the food played a major role) and sat in a circle eating and talking, sharing the Romney sibling's memories of East High in the 50s and 60s. We had visits from so many of dad's friends again. I'll especially always remember Warren Tate's visit. He was so kind and supportive. Also dad's old lawyer Wally. That made dad cry to get a visit from him. So much love shown.
By Thursday we had Peter with us and Adam was on his way. We had a meeting the previous day with Leanne with Adam on speaker phone. (Will always remember hearing Adam choke up while we were talking. I think it was the first time it really hit home for him that we were losing dad.) The nurses had confirmed dad's bleeding and that there was really nothing we could do,. We made plans with hospice and we were able to make the plan to take dad home. We had to wait a long time for everything to be ready, so we had a long afternoon together. By this time dad was getting less and less coherent. He was trying so hard to understand what was happening and it was hard to talk to him about it in a way that he could understand without being painfully blunt. I knew it was what he wanted, to go home and die and not be suffering with all the medical interventions, but it was still hard to talk about. I have very strong memories of that afternoon together. Dad knew he was dying. He wasn't totally coherent. Asked a lot of sort of strange questions. But here's something I was so grateful for. When my mom was getting sicker and sicker she got very annoyed if you showed her tenderness or tried to take care of her. That was really hard and really painful. It wasn't until the last few weeks of her life that she allowed me to be a caregiver to her, and by then she pretty much didn't realize who I was. But with dad, he allowed, welcomed, and soaked up all the tenderness I had to offer. I could sit next to him in his bed and hold his hand while we talked about the end of his life that afternoon. He wanted to die, he was ready to. He asked what he was supposed to do next, and asked how he was supposed to find Kathryn. He asked things like, "Is there an original God?" and "How did all of this get here?" and "Are you dead too?" He was very in and out of reality and very intent on finally getting answers to deep profound questions he had all his life. Margaret and I took turns sitting with him and trying to answer what we could and trying to make sure he understood that we were taking him to his house so he could finally pass away. It was so extremely tender.
I'll also always remember the many phone calls I had to make to his friends. The Hammonds, the Pughs, Mike Preece, the Nagels, the Whipples....so many people. And it was really hard to keep talking to them over and over again about what was happening. Especially when one or two of them were totally shocked and frustrated and didn't love our care choices. But that was rare. I'll always especially remember being on the phone with Betsy Nagel and trying to talk without crying which was impossible. I was outside, sitting on a bench in the cold January air, just sobbing. That was hard. I starting sending group texts. So many texts. Dad has the best friends. Also dad's sisters are so wonderful. Rosanne stayed with us every minute, and Hannah too, for as long as she could. Poor Hannah. Her husband was at her home in Maryland, very ill with cancer, but Hannah left him for as many days as she could to come be with us. It was extremely hard to see her say goodbye to dad. By then we knew we were taking dad home and this would be the last time that she got to see him. It was very emotional to see her goodbye, and she gave me a letter to read to him after she had left.
So, late Thursday afternoon we finally got dad to his house. It was such a relief to be back in his home instead of the bare and smelly rehab center. His own things around him, a warm and comforting feeling. It was also quite stressful because hospice was caring for him but didn't provide full-time care, which he totally needed. Luckily the hospice company had a sister company that did provide that which was a relief. We worked hard to get a schedule set up for a couple of weeks, with only a few empty spots that we could cover. Adam got into town, and we settled in to dad's comfortable furniture to be by his side. His hospice bed was in his living room so there was space to gather around and rest comfortably and eat our meals too. That afternoon dad slept so long and so hard I was afraid he wouldn't wake up. But he did and we had a nice evening. Liz Hammond arrived in town and rushed to his side to see him. He looked 10 times better than he had just a few hours before.
Friday was a very special day. Dad hadn't been so coherent for entire illness. In fact, he seemed so himself that we all wondered if we should set up a month or more of his care. My friend Becky J. brought me a drink and came and chatted with dad. She was surprised at how himself he was. Dad's friend Jack Hammond finally made it back to town, even changing flights to get to dad. I felt guilty because by Friday dad seemed like he was holding steady and doing pretty well, and I had made them panic about Jack maybe not getting to see dad. It turned out it was such a blessing. They had a great visit together, and I was so grateful they had time together.
By Friday evening a really special feeling was filling dad's home. I remember the soft lights and dad in his bed, looking calm and being quite coherent. We siblings were gathered around him and talking and holding hands. Dad was so happy to have us there but also was still a little fuzzy in his thinking. At one point, as we four were standing around him, he asked us, "What am I to you?" Margaret answered, "You are a dad to us, and you make us laugh." A huge smile spread across his face and he closed his eyes, leaned his head back and said, "Oh I just LOVED that." That was wonderful. However, a very poignant and challenging moment was when I remembered a friend we hadn't called yet - his dear childhood friend Joe Cowley. I was horrified when I remembered I hadn't contacted him yet so I spent a very choked up half hour on the phone with him and urged him to come as soon as he could. What a sweet man. He made arrangements to come the next morning.
Friday night also held the very most sacred moment I had during this whole experience, and it turns out that each of my siblings was also gifted with a special moment similar to mine. Somehow I was able to be all alone with dad for a few minutes. He was looking so good I really felt like we had a lot of time left. But I felt prompted to take his hand and share a few feelings with him. I remember telling him how much I loved him, how much I was going to miss him, and most especially, how proud I had always been to be his daughter. He soaked those words in and told me that I had been "just magnificent." We just shared our love for each other and I felt so surrounded by the most amazing spirit. I read him Hannah's very tender letter about what a wonderful brother he was and he expressed his gratitude for its sweet message. I picked up a framed photo we have of mom and held it up for him to see. We talked about him going to see her soon and he just held the photo and stroked the shape of mom's face and told me how in awe he was. I can not express my gratitude for that experience I was able to have alone with him.
Then the tides turned. Dad had a very bad night. Rosanne was staying at his house along with the care nurse, and they both had a terrible time, with dad being up and down all night and slipping away into a restless and anxious unconsciousness. In the morning, Margaret and Peter and I were there with dad and it was clear that things had changed. I arrived just as dad's friend Joe was there. I don't really have words for seeing these two friends, both 80, friends since kindergarten, be together. I felt so bad that Joe hadn't had a chance to talk with dad or be with him at all while he was conscious. But instead Joe gave us a very special gift. Often at the end of someone's life, they receive a blessing of love and release from a priesthood holder. Dad had had a blessing on his first day in the hospital, but this one was different. Joe gathered Peter and Margaret and me near and placed his hands on dad's head and gave him the sweetest blessing of peace. I can't really think about it without just crying. Joe stepped in as a father figure for us. I was sorry Adam wasn't there.
Jack Hammond came for another visit and it was such a different story. Dad was not awake at all this time and was restless and unsettled. Jack just sat with him and quietly talked about their memories together.
My siblings and I took an hour to go visit and make plans with the funeral home we were using. It was clear that today was different than Friday and we knew we had a very short time. However, we were not expecting dad to pass that very day. But when we got home from that planning meeting, and Rosanne was sitting by dad, we could see that dad was slipping away and was very uncomfortable. We four siblings went downstairs to talk about when to remove his oxygen. It had been such a terrible thought back when dad was conscious but knowing that he didn't want to linger, a flow of oxygen keeping him alive. The thought of taking off that tube while he was awake and then watching him slowly die was just terrible. But that's what he wanted. This was different though. Dad was already not conscious. He was struggling. Now it was clear that it was time. The four of us decided together that we knew dad was done being awake and now was just suffering.
We went upstairs and gathered around him. Margaret's three daughters had arrived. Rosanne was there. And it just so happened that we didn't have nursing coverage for that hour, so we were alone without a stranger in the house. We could see dad's restlessness and discomfort, so we just looked at each other and nodded our heads. Adam carefully removed the cannula from dad's face. We gave him morphine and held his hands. Dad's dear friend Char arrived briefly to say goodbye. I know it must have been hard for her to leave but was very kind about allowing this time to be just his family. A couple of neighbors knocked on the door, but Margaret quickly answered the door and let them know that we were in dad's final moments and that we needed to be alone with him. I was sorry to turn anyone away but at the same time, we needed this to ourselves. Troy was able to arrive as well. We circled around him, played quiet music, and spoke gently to him. I think we stayed that way for about an hour and a half, maybe close to two hours. What can I even say? To be lucky enough to be included in that circle of love as we sent our dad and brother and grandfather out of this life? We watched him take his last breath and saw the amazing sight of how instantly his skin changed the moment we knew he was gone. And even laughed a little when his last moment was to make us jump with one final breath. I know that sounds terrible but we were so quiet and he just scared us so suddenly with one breath, then we all laughed. Then watched as all traces of pain left his face.
We just kept sitting. Slowly the moment dispersed and we one-by-one left his side to sit on the couches and wait for the beloved folks from Stark's Funeral Parlor come to so gently and respectfully care for dad's body, wrapping him carefully, moving him gently, and making his now-empty bed and leaving a flower on his pillow. We followed in the wake of the gurney, watching as he was taken into the hearse, and lingering in the door as they drove away.
What an experience. It was a very hard three weeks. But also those three weeks were truly a heavenly gift. The things we were able to say, the way we were able to be together, it was just wonderful. I feel so honored to have been able to experience these weeks so closely with dad. I miss him a lot, although all the time I think about how happy he must be to be with mom, to have graduated from this planet earth. He did it. He did a great job. He gets to be done and go on to new adventures.
Love you dad.
1 comment:
That was beautiful!
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