luv ya dad!! (written 10/20/11; somehow not posted)

A fortnight after my last post, dad passed quietly in his sleep. Perhaps that's a misnomer - he passed quietly knowing that my brother and I were both there with him, each of us holding one of his hands.

That aspect of his death has been intriguing to me. I have heard told of those close-to-death waiting for someone to arrive before letting go. As a Type-A, I have been skeptical of such claims. No longer. Dad passed on a Monday; we asked for dialysis to be performed one last time on Friday in the hopes that my Bro would make it into town one last time to say goodbye.

So, Dad received dialysis Friday and was transferred back to his apartment on Friday afternoon. Most of Saturday is a loss, though I am lucky enough to feed Dad a small portion of one of his favorite meals - mac and cheese.

Sunday is a total loss in terms of getting Dad to eat anything. He sipped some water and ate some odds-and-ends, but most of the day he is unresponsive - at least to any type of existence we are experiencing together. At one point, he is barking orders, and I ask if he's practicing with his artillery battery. Tersely, he responds, "Yes". A few more barked orders, and a softening of his features follows. I ask - "Did you get the target?". His expression broadens to a smile - "Yep, we sure did."

Monday comes, and Dad is mostly unresponsive. Several times, I remind Dad that my Bro is expected to arrive in the afternoon. Dad hangs on gamely. Bro arrives about 4:30, and spends some private time with Dad. After that, he and the Floor Manager and I are at the foot of Dad's bed talking about options for the evening. Keep in mind, that just an hour or so earlier, one of Dad's nurses has estimated that Dad will be OK for another 24-48 hours.

By 5:30, Bro, and Floor Manager, and I are at the foot of Dad's bed chatting, and the Hospice nurse interuppts us saying - "the time is soon".

Bro and I broke off conversation, each of us taking one of Dad's hands. Two breaths later, he stopped breathing. I checked his pulse, and he was gone.

So, do the dying wait for those most special to them wait for them to be at their bedside to finally relent? I was skeptical. I am no longer. And I am blessed.

Luv you Dad. And Mom. Your sunset tonight was spectacular. I expect I will always recognize you in the sunsets.