![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Slipping away
Jul. 19th, 2007 07:53 amI arrived Tuesday night and drove directly to the hospital. My sister and my mother had spent the day with Dad, but had gone home for a bite to eat and some rest, planning to return later that night. That suited me fine because I wanted time alone with Dad.
I approached his bed, took his hand, and said "I'm here Dad. I just arrived from Montreal." Dad turned to look at me, whispered my name, and squeezed my hand. This was the most communication I got from him for the rest of the night. Apparently, he was still talkative the day before, but now it's a struggle for him to cough and even just to breathe.
But I know he knew I was there and I knew he could listen and hear me, so I told him everything I've been dying to say my entire life. I recycled some of what I posted here last, but also other things that were mostly unspoken during our lives together. My Dad knows I love him and I know my Dad loves me, but he's not the type of man to be openly and verbally affectionate like that. "I'm going to get mushy now Dad," I laughed through the tears. "And there's nothing you can do to stop me." I thought I saw him smile ever so slightly and he squeezed my hand.
I spent Wednesday afternoon with him, but by now he was completely unresponsive. My mum and aunt (his sister) were there too and sometimes there'd be conversation between us. But each time my Dad would take too long to take his next breath, the conversation would come to a halt as well, and we'd all hang there waiting to see his chest rise again.
My Dad must find this humiliating. Dressed in nothing but a bed sheet, he looks like a roman in his toga. This is not dignified, but I have told him that I will forget this image of him as soon as I can and only remember the strong, charming, loving man that I've known my whole life.
Today is another day. I'm praying for my Dad's sake that it will be the last.
I approached his bed, took his hand, and said "I'm here Dad. I just arrived from Montreal." Dad turned to look at me, whispered my name, and squeezed my hand. This was the most communication I got from him for the rest of the night. Apparently, he was still talkative the day before, but now it's a struggle for him to cough and even just to breathe.
But I know he knew I was there and I knew he could listen and hear me, so I told him everything I've been dying to say my entire life. I recycled some of what I posted here last, but also other things that were mostly unspoken during our lives together. My Dad knows I love him and I know my Dad loves me, but he's not the type of man to be openly and verbally affectionate like that. "I'm going to get mushy now Dad," I laughed through the tears. "And there's nothing you can do to stop me." I thought I saw him smile ever so slightly and he squeezed my hand.
I spent Wednesday afternoon with him, but by now he was completely unresponsive. My mum and aunt (his sister) were there too and sometimes there'd be conversation between us. But each time my Dad would take too long to take his next breath, the conversation would come to a halt as well, and we'd all hang there waiting to see his chest rise again.
My Dad must find this humiliating. Dressed in nothing but a bed sheet, he looks like a roman in his toga. This is not dignified, but I have told him that I will forget this image of him as soon as I can and only remember the strong, charming, loving man that I've known my whole life.
Today is another day. I'm praying for my Dad's sake that it will be the last.
