The day you died, Papa! I have regrets about the day you died. I was busy. I was very very busy. Why didn't I stop? Why didn't I just STOP? AND BE. WITH YOU.
Looking back, I wonder about many things. You weren't able to keep any food in your stomach. It happened suddenly. You were living on boost and the bread and rice puddings I prepared that week. I had also arranged for an saline drip so you wouldn't become dehydrated. We arranged for some tests in the hospital, just overnight. The Dr's. thought is might be something simple. You wanted to go. You wanted to feel better. Determination was one of your strong points, Papa. Looking back at the day you went into the hospital, I wonder if at some level you thought I was taking you there to die. Did you?
You were only there for a day. We hired R, who had stayed with Mamma, to be with you over night. I didn't want you to be alone. The next day, the Dr. called and said they wouldn't be doing the tests. You wouldn't be coming home. I held the phone in stunned silence, trying to pull some rational responses together. "Why not?" He tried to explain. I wasn't ready to hear. "You will have to come in and see for yourself." I did. The door of your hospital room moved easily under the weight of my body. I leaned slowly and carefully on the door, preparing myself. Finally I say you, sitting in a chair by the window. I froze. My brain stopped. My heart stopped. There in front of me sat an old old man. I could barely recognize you. Your energy was almost gone. Half of you had already departed.
I hugged you. "Come on Papa", I said with my arms around you, "we are going home." You looked shocked. "We are?" Your face was questioning. "Can I?" you asked. "Of course you can, and of course we are." My bossy self was taking over. I had already informed the Dr. I was taking him home. He agreed. "You will have to wait here for a little bit though, Papa." "I can't take you myself. An ambulance will bring you home. I will go now and make sure everything is ready." You lookd distraught. Perhaps you thought I wouldn't come back. Perhaps you thought I would leave you there to pass on alone.
It was a cold November day. Gray and cold and windy. I stood in the doorway of your home as the ambulance people unloaded you in your pajamas with bare feet dragging on the patio ice. I was enraged. I would have given anything to bundle you in my arms and carry you close to me like a child in the warmth of a blanket. I was tense and frustrated. I didn't show it.
Settled in your chair by the window, with a wheel chair near by, you looked more comfortable. Suddenly you were no longer able to walk. It was an amazing process for me to observe. Overnight you could no longer walk.
R, our wonderful home care nurse came. You wiggled your finger at her in a 'come over here' gesture. She did. You gently kissed her on the cheek without a word. It was touching. I knew you were saying goodbye. She didn't. We all chatted for awhile. The night nurse arrived. As I accompanied R to the door, she assured me you would be 'around' for another couple of weeks. Deep inside, I knew you wouldn't.
I called Dr. A. Our family Dr. for the last twenty years. He wouldn't come. He had always told me he would come for the 'end'. I was furious and deeply hurt. How dare he, after all those years, not make one house call of support and comfort. It said so much about our society. It saddened me. I called a young hospice Dr. He came. He was on the 'path'. We sat and chatted. I was comforted by him. I was so grateful for him. He was there for you, gently, respectfully, and lovingly, there for both of us.
During the night, the buzzer beside my bed rang. When I reached you, you were on the floor. The night nurse stood helplessly over you expecting me to take charge. The brakes on the wheel chair had not been set and you had taken a bad fall. Once again, I was livid! I was unable to budge you from the awkward position on the floor. I called B and B. It seems like an eternity before I heard their car pulling into the driveway. I had tried to brace your back with my body to give you some comfort. Both of us were in agony. At last the two men were able to lift you back into bed. It was a job. It took strength. I was so thankful for them both.
You slept after that. In the morning you didn't get up. You were 'half here' and 'half there.' In my entire life it was the first morning I hadn't seen you get out of your bed.
You were comfortable. You were in your own bed. You were in your own home. That's all you ever wanted. It was comforting for both of us.
T and P came and sat with you for awhile. We chatted. You lay quietly, enjoying the closeness around you. They asked if you would like a blessing with Holy Oil from Jerusalem. You nodded a strong approval. They promised to come back tomorrow at 2:00 pm. You were pleased.
C and B came. They sat with you. B's hand still looked small inside yours. My heart was so full of deep sadness looking at you all together, perhaps for the last time. Such a waste.
I had shopping to do. Things they told me you would need. Swabs for your mouth, depends, wipes, etc. It seemed important. Now I know it wasn't. I remember kissed you before I left. "Papa, if you feel the need to go to the other side before I get back, it's OK." I assured you. I hoped you would wait. You nodded. I was gone for a long time.
People dropped in and out. Mostly the wonderful women from home care who had been such a blessing to both of us. They gave me respite. They gave you company. They rubbed your feet and washed your face while I sat in that big bedroom chair. They comforted me with their chatter. The day passed by and I had not had time to sit with you. To hold your hand. To talk with you. Too busy with 'important stuff'. About 9:00 pm I went to bed. I was exhausted mentally and physically. The night nurse with you. I remember asking her to hold you hand so you would know you were not alone. I retired. I called my best friend to talk and release. The buzzer rang by my best. I quickly went to you, however you were already leaving. It was about 10:00 pm. I never said goodbye. I never told you how proud I was to be your daughter. How happy I was we had done all that personal work together the last three years. It was meant to be. All those talks. All the 'hard stuff' to say. All the growth. I never took the time on your last day on this earth to tell you all of that. That is what was important.
Yes, I have regrets. They are hard to let go. I was with you though. I am forever grateful for that. It was an honour and a privilege. I shall never forget it. You gave me an enormous gift that day, Papa. You took my fear of 'death' away. You crossed with such dignity, grace and a deep peace, a deep knowing. Unafraid of the next great adventure. Acceptance and surrender at it's best. I was in awe.
You saw something on your way to the light. Your eyes squinted, even though they were closed. Your brow furrowed as you tried to focus. There was definitely something there which you were witness to. It gave me hope. It gave me assurance. It reinforced my inner knowing that you can never ever dissolve life force (energy) into nothing. Energy once formed cannot be made to disappear. It can only be altered.
And so we sat together, your hand in mine and my head on your chest. Rissie lay by your feet. Just the three of us for a long long time. It gave me peace.
November, 2003
