One hundred thirty eight
days ago my dad’s heart doctors told him and my mom that there was nothing more
they could do for him and encouraged my parents to contact hospice. Thirteen
days ago my dad died from congestive heart failure. It’s been a difficult five
months. But I’ve learned some things during these months; things that I want to
remember.
Death can be a gradual process. I’m thankful that my dad felt well enough to move
around the house and enjoy visits from family and friends for much of the time.
When we first contacted Hospice, dad was fairly strong and felt pretty good. As
time went on, however, he gradually had more difficulty keeping his balance and
began using a cane, and then a walker to help him get around. It was hard to
see my father, once so strong, now walking slowly and unsteady.
Just when you think you have things figured out,
they change. As my dad needed more
help, we’d adjust his care. The cane and walker helped him get around. Then he
got a different recliner chair with a remote control that helped him get up.
During the last month he struggled with monitoring his medications and became
more confused and disoriented. Just as we’d adjust to each new “stage,”
something else would change. Thankfully the Hospice staff (Spectrum Hospice)
guided us through each of these changes.
Things can change quickly. I talked with my dad on the phone the Wednesday
before he died and he sounded fine. I asked if he wanted me to pick up a
Mother’s Day card for him to give my mom the following Sunday. He said yes and
also asked me to get a bouquet of flowers to give her. Two days later his
health declined dramatically; by Saturday we had a hospital bed brought in and
were told to begin administering special medication every two hours to keep him
comfortable as he was now in the end stage.
You don’t know when it’s the last time you’ll … As he drifted in and out of consciousness that
last weekend, I remember brief bits of conversation. He made a joke about the
oxygen he was breathing, he was confused and kept asking when my friends were
coming over, he wanted to sit up but wasn’t strong enough so I had him lean
against me for a while, I told him I loved him and he said he loved me too. But
I didn’t realize when I left for school Monday morning that I would never hear
him talk to me again.
Death is not always pretty, holy, or sacred. From Monday afternoon to late Tuesday morning, the
sounds of my dad gasping for breath were painful to watch and listen to.
Although he was not in pain because of the morphine, it was very hard for us.
It was not pretty or holy; it was horrible. The death rattle and its effects
were evident.
The heart continues to do its best for as long as
it can. My dad’s breathing became
shallow, quiet breaths for the last 10-12 hours of his life. As I sat next to
him during his last hour, I counted the seconds between breaths. It was a
constant 3 seconds, then a breath, 3 seconds, then another breath. I was amazed
at the way this damaged, tired heart, which had struggled for so long was still
continuing to work. Then there was a 9 second space, followed by a breath, 3
seconds, and then more irregular breathing. As my mom, my sister, and I stood
around my dad’s bed, he slowly stopped breathing, just like a clock slowly
winding down.
I wonder about the mystery of the transition from
this life to heaven. As my dad
stopped breathing I wondered what spiritual happenings were occurring that we
couldn’t see. Was an angel in the room with us? Did my dad see us as he went to
heaven? I have so many questions without answers.
I’m thankful for God’s gift of family. I am so glad that my mom, my sister, and I were
with my dad when he died and could spend the next several days together, making
arrangements. I’m thankful for the weekend our family had together: my
brother-in-law, nephews, niece, and my brother (unfortunately his wife had to
stay in Russia and couldn’t make the trip).
God provides. After a long day making funeral arrangements, we were just tired and
had no idea what to do for supper. I said aloud, “I wish someone would just
come to the door with supper for us.” Less than 30 seconds later the doorbell
rang – a neighbor was there with supper for us! (Wow, God!) The next day I
mentioned how nice it would be to have some brownies; within ten minutes
another neighbor knocked at the door with supper and dessert! My sister and I
needed appropriate funeral clothes and God led us to the right stores very
quickly (and they were on sale too).
The Christian community is so important. The prayers, cards, notes, Facebook comments, and
people who attended the visitation and memorial service have encouraged and
uplifted my family. It is a reminder to me to also show this support to others.
You can praise God in the midst of grief. We did just that at my dad’s memorial service! And
it felt good and right.
Knowing death is coming may make it easier, but
it’s still not easy. We realized
one hundred thirty eight days ago that my dad would most likely die within the
next six months. I had the time to tell him I love him. I’m glad I was able to
spend time with him and help care for him. I have no regrets. I’m happy that my
dad is now free of pain and the heavy batteries that helped his heart. I’m glad
he’s enjoying his new life in heaven with Jesus our Savior. But I’m sad at the
same time. Grief is still grief. I miss him. I love you dad. And I’ll see you
again someday.
