He had been struggling with a number of health issues for a long time. Over the past year he had undergone bypass surgery and two amputations and had been bouncing back and forth between the hospital and a rehabilitation center. When they finally sent him home and recommended hospice care, we knew our time left with him was short.
We were told to expect ups and downs; a roller coaster ride. Really, though, he had more good days than bad. He was confused at times and would say things that we didn't understand or would call out for me when I was sitting right next to him. Occasionally, he would ask about their dog. "Maggie has been gone for 15 years, Dad." "I know," he said "I'm talking about the dog that looks like Maggie that comes in and sleeps on the floor. I don't know her name so I just call her Maggie." There was no dog but I didn't see any point in telling him.
The whole family spent as much time with him as we could. We did our best to keep him comfortable and happy. He couldn't go places and do things, but we could bring him his favorite foods. The nurses told us we didn't have to worry about keeping him on his diabetic diet, anymore, and that he could eat whatever he wanted so that become much of our focus. If he wanted pizza, he got pizza. If he wanted McDonalds, someone would go pick it up. If he had asked for lobster, we'd have driven to Maine.
We also watched a lot of movies. He had always loved bad, old movies. The worse they were, the more he seemed to like them. We'd pick apart the plot or laugh at the clothes the actors were wearing. Like food, it was one of the few pleasures he had left. Sometimes, though, I found it upsetting when the channel would go to a commercial break. They would promote an upcoming movie, something that was scheduled to air a week or a month away. I couldn't get it out of my head that my dad would probably be gone by then.
The last good day I spent with him was the Thursday before he died. He was in a really great mood and seemed to feel good. My sister in law and I watched movies with him all afternoon and brought him whatever he wanted to eat. We talked and laughed a lot. It was such a good day.
It may have been foolish to feel hopeful, we all knew he wasn't going to get better, but we started to believe we had a little more time. Since everyone was planning to visit on Saturday, I came up with the idea to have a cookout. There was still snow on the ground and the weather was more winter than spring, but I thought it would be fun for everyone. I especially thought my dad would enjoy it.
On Friday, my oldest brother said he was going to bring lunch and spend the day visiting, so the rest of us took a day off. Mr. W and I went shopping to pick up hamburgers and hot dogs. We exchanged phone calls and texts with the rest of the family discussing what everyone was going to bring to the cookout. We were all in a party mood.
Saturday, since Mr. W had to work, I prepped the food so we could leave as soon as he got home. Late in the afternoon, though, my sister in law called and said my dad wasn't doing well. They had put in a call to the nurse and I should come right away.
He had fallen asleep after breakfast and my mom hadn't been able to wake him up. We tried squeezing his hand and talking loudly to him, but he didn't respond. Even on oxygen, his breathing was labored and his color was draining. The nurse confirmed what we already knew, it wasn't likely he would make it through the night.
We took turns sitting with him, each of us having time alone to say our goodbyes. I don't know what anyone else said, but I didn't say goodbye. Not because I thought it would change anything, but because it wasn't what I felt like I needed to do. I just sat and talked to him the way I would have if he were awake. A few hours later, we were all at his bedside when he quietly passed.
Mr. W and I stepped outside shortly after. It was a cold night, but the sky was clear and there was a gorgeous ring, like a circular rainbow, around the moon. It was unlike anything I have ever seen. I have no doubt that it was a sign from my dad telling us that he was at peace.
I've since found out that the ring was a sundog. I didn't know you could see them at night, but I've always loved spotting them because they appear so rarely. A few days after my dad died, I was driving home after shopping with my mom and I was thinking of him. It had been cloudy all day, but just then the sky brightened up and a sundog appeared. I pulled over and took a picture with my phone. Every sundog I see is not a sign from my dad, I know that, and yet I find an odd sort of comfort in seeing one.
Although I'll never stop missing him.
Willoughby
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2 comments:
Death is always a shock even when we know it's coming. My parents have been gone for many years (both left in their sixties). We had hospice for our mom but only for a few days. We didn't really know much about it.
It doesn't matter what the sundog is (they are strangely beautiful and I saw one this winter once). What matters is that it provides you a good memory of your Dad. Hope your memories and the strength of your family gets you through this sad time. all the best
I believe that sundog was a beautiful message from your Dad that he is okay. I had a similar experience with my Father, and looking back now, I am glad he chose to die at home instead of a hospital. He had his own pillow, blankets and small things that brought comfort to him. That is something comforting for us to know. Your Father passed away with the people who surrounded him meant the most to him. And I believe that is extremely important to all. All of you had your own time with him and that is good too. We had that, and I'll never forget it. Passing away in one's sleep is a way most people would choose to go if they had their wish. Your Father freed himself of that body that pained him so. Now his spirit lives on through you and your family. I keep my Father's legacy alive by talking about him to people. Little stories, things he use to say or find amusing are ways to let others know what a fine man he was. Once in a while I feel or find signs of him around me. They are very subtle but I swear I'm not imagining it. It's usually in a dark hour when I'm having a difficult time, I can smell his after shave cologne, and no one around me wears that anymore. I know he is as there as he can be helping me. My family thinks I'm a bit strange about such things, but I believe them to be true. Our loved ones need a way to send messages of love, and since they cannot speak the way they use to, we have to be open to get messages in other forms. Dreams are another way.
My sincerest condolences to you Willoughby. It is a most difficult passage to go through, and we are never quite the same afterwards. But keep your Father's legacy alive and imagine him smiling that you are doing so.
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