{"id":1415,"date":"2011-01-25T16:18:56","date_gmt":"2011-01-26T00:18:56","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.thriveinlife.ca\/?p=1415"},"modified":"2011-01-25T16:41:37","modified_gmt":"2011-01-26T00:41:37","slug":"the-day-my-dad-died-part-two","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thriveinlife.ca\/index.php\/the-day-my-dad-died-part-two\/","title":{"rendered":"The Day My Dad Died — Part Two"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>October 11th<\/sup> \u2013 a Friday, one of those perfect fall days.\u00a0 The air is crisp and the trees are bright as they glisten in the sun.\u00a0 Children are playing on the street.\u00a0 How can all of this be happening while my dad lies in a hospital bed in our dining room, taking what will soon be his final breaths?<\/p>\n

It is morning. \u00a0He lies still; his eyes glazed and fixed \u2013 a semi-coma according to the night nurse who predicted that there will probably be no need for her to return that night.\u00a0 I talked to my dad and I think that he understood when I told him that he is safe, and that I sense that his mother wants to be with him, that she\u2019s sorry that she couldn\u2019t be there to watch her precious young son Abe grow up to become such a fine person.<\/p>\n

His eyes remain fixed, yet here is a look of recognition and knowing.\u00a0 He\u2019s calmer now \u2013 he knows that even he cannot beat the forces of death.\u00a0 I tearily sing some of my dad\u2019s favourite songs as one more way to say goodbye.\u00a0 Shakily I sing \u201cI Love Paris In The Springtime, \u201cAroom Dem Fire,\u201d and \u201cYou\u2019re Nothing but a Nothing\u201d \u2013 my dad\u2019s booming voice echoing in my head. Yale, my husband, is sitting by my side sharing this tender moment.<\/p>\n

I talk to the nurse about the kind of man that my dad was \u2013 how he was so well-liked and loved, about his great sense of humour \u2013 qualities of my dad she will never know.\u00a0 My dad remains silent, his eyes staring into space.\u00a0 Nevertheless, I hear him.\u00a0 I hear his pride in the stories I tell about a man name ABE BRASS.<\/p>\n

I feel relieved that my dad is no longer in pain and that the worst is now over.\u00a0 I talk to the nurse about mundane things which surprisingly feel fine, a relief from the intensity of the week.\u00a0 I know that my dad is in a safe and comfortable place.\u00a0 I drink coffee in the kitchen, my father sleeping in the living room like a newborn baby.\u00a0 Yale is working downstairs.\u00a0 I continue to play his favourite music \u2013 both for me and for him.\u00a0 I look curiously at his face for signs of expression. I squeeze his hand but feel nothing in return.<\/p>\n

The replacement nurse Sharon arrives.\u00a0 She attempts to re-position my dad to no avail.\u00a0 The bedsores don\u2019t matter anymore.\u00a0 My mom arrives, looking tired and scared \u2013 scared to be in the dining room and scared to be away.\u00a0 She putters in the kitchen.\u00a0 She talks to Sharon.<\/p>\n

My Dad now wears a diaper, his bowels releasing for his final journey.\u00a0 He no longer feels shame.\u00a0 Sharon puts on fresh pajamas and a pair of Yale\u2019s Adida\u2019s socks on my dad\u2019s toothpick legs, replacing the thick grey cabled MacGregor socks that I had come to associate with him over the last six months.<\/p>\n

Yale slips out for a meeting and to get more morphine suppositories if needed.\u00a0 Nobody truly believes that this will actually be the day my dad dies.\u00a0 Yale returns with the morphine, our ammunition against pain.\u00a0 I crave fresh air and hesitantly decide to go to Kildonan Park.\u00a0 I tell my dad that I will be back in about an hour or so.\u00a0 In my head, I hear him say \u201cHave a good walk; I\u2019ll be okay.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n

He had always loved that park.\u00a0 I instruct Sharon to continue playing music.\u00a0 I feel assured by having my friend\u2019s cell phone.\u00a0 I arrive at the park, and breathe in the autumn air.\u00a0 I walk, rustling the carpet of leaves. \u00a0On my disc player I listen to John Denver\u2019s \u201cOn The Wings Of A Dream.\u201d\u00a0 I feel sad but peaceful.\u00a0 I call home to check in \u2013 no change.\u00a0 I feel relieved and secretly expect my dad to remain in this state indefinitely.\u00a0 It is an okay place where his body feels no pain.\u00a0 I go to Dairy Queen and treat myself to a peanut buster parfait.\u00a0 I sit on the grass, enjoying the sweetness of the ice-cream and the saltiness of the peanuts. The fall sun shines and a gentle breeze blows.<\/p>\n

I return home, finding it difficult to enter the \u201chouse of death.\u201d \u00a0I enter the living room, saying what will be my last hello to my father.\u00a0 It feels very stuffy in the room \u2013 together Judy and I open the dining room window, while leaning over the dining room table fraught with medical supplies.\u00a0 I sit by my dad\u2019s side.\u00a0 I notice him making a gulping noise.\u00a0 After a few seconds, it registers that this is the pre-death gulping noise that Serena, the young and dedicated night nurse, had spoken of just a few nights ago.\u00a0<\/p>\n

I tell my mom who was just about to go for a walk. \u00a0I call up Yale from his basement home office.\u00a0 The nurse verifies that his pulse is barely detectable.\u00a0 The time is 3:10 p.m.\u00a0 Nurse Sharon reluctantly leaves as the new nurse arrives.\u00a0 We sit with Dad, Yale stroking his forehead, while my mom and I hold his pale blue surprisingly warm hands.\u00a0 His lips, too, are blue.\u00a0 On the cassette player Vera Lynn is singing \u201cMy Son, My Son.\u201d\u00a0 My brother Joel is with us too, even though miles away.\u00a0<\/p>\n

My mom tells my dad one more time that he\u2019s been a wonderful husband and father.\u00a0 She says to him, \u201cYou can let go Abe.\u201d\u00a0 Her head is down as she weeps.\u00a0 I am silent as I observe each gulp. \u00a0It is 3:20 p.m. and Kevin, then age 13, returns home from school.\u00a0 He immediately joins us in the dining room and positions himself on his grandfather\u2019s left side, and utters, \u201cHi Zaida.\u201d\u00a0 The music stops in mid-sentence. \u00a0My mom tells my dad that we are all here.\u00a0 I am not certain if he hears.\u00a0 I watch each gulp in anticipation, tears rolling down my cheeks.<\/p>\n

Suddenly, the gulping stops and his lips close.\u00a0 His face looks neither peaceful nor troubled.\u00a0 It just \u201cis.\u201d \u00a0My dad inhales with no noticeable exhalation \u2013 almost as if he is holding his breath. \u00a0Stillness fills the air. \u00a0\u201cI think that he is dead,\u201d I utter.\u00a0 The nurse checks his vital signs; we wait for a confirmation as we sit in disbelief.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Then he takes one last breath inward and we no longer have to ask. \u00a0His pupils roll to the right.\u00a0 There is no breath; there is no life.\u00a0 There is nothing.\u00a0 Judy declares my dad officially dead.\u00a0 The time is 3:25p.m. \u00a0\u00a0How could this be?\u00a0 How could my strong, determined dad be dead? How can the doctor\u2019s prediction be so right?\u00a0 I shake uncontrollably, my body in shock.\u00a0<\/p>\n

I get up.\u00a0 I call my brother and sister-in-law to tell them the sad, but not unexpected, news.\u00a0 I call the funeral home.\u00a0 There is commotion in the kitchen.\u00a0 Judy leaves and my aunt Esther naively comes in carrying a casserole.\u00a0 We tell her the bad news.\u00a0 She busies herself with my mom who is panicking.\u00a0 Together they make the necessary phone calls regarding picking up the body and funeral arrangements.<\/p>\n

I go back into the dining room to be with my dad for the last time.\u00a0 His eyes are eerily open.\u00a0 Nobody is able to close them.\u00a0 I put on one of my favourite sacred songs, \u201cReturn Again.\u201d\u00a0 I touch my dad\u2019s head, chest and ankles.\u00a0 With my hands I help his spirit rise.\u00a0 I don\u2019t know exactly what I\u2019m doing but I need to do it.\u00a0 My dad lies face up, slightly to the right.\u00a0 He clasps a pillow with an \u201cABC\u201d pillowcase on it.\u00a0 His open and crossed eyes scare me.\u00a0 His face looks blank; I miss him already. \u00a0I feel scared that he is not responding.<\/p>\n

Esther comes in and sits facing my dad, expressing how she always felt so loved by him, her older brother.\u00a0 She then chatters about the shiva to follow the funeral.\u00a0 I tell her not now.\u00a0 She understands and quietly leaves the room.\u00a0<\/p>\n

It is just my dad and me again. \u00a0I play the song with the lyrics, \u201cHow could anyone ever tell you that you\u2019re anything less than beautiful? As I look at my dad\u2019s lifeless body, a part of me wants to say, \u201cWake up, wake up \u2013 don\u2019t leave me.\u201d\u00a0 Curiously, I lift his blue fingers.\u00a0 They feel weightless.\u00a0 I stroke his still thick gray hair as a mother would a child.\u00a0 It feels good.\u00a0 I am reassured by its familiarity. \u00a0<\/p>\n

I gently lift his arm and his so familiar beautiful hands. \u00a0They still feel strong.\u00a0 I carefully study his hands, as if to imprint them in my mind forever.\u00a0 I notice the way gentle wisps of black hair swirl over his knuckles.\u00a0 I memorize each protruding vein.\u00a0 I recall the many packages of meat that these fingers have tied, and the numerous bridge and poker hands that they have played.\u00a0 I think about the many people he has warmly greeted with these hands, such strong and determined hands.\u00a0 I gently place his arm back on the bed.\u00a0<\/p>\n

I glance at his feet and legs.\u00a0\u00a0 Ridges from the Adida\u2019s socks remain on his ankles. Immediately after his death, my mom lovingly suggested that we remove the socks so that \u201cthey won\u2019t leave a mark.\u201d As if it really matters now.\u00a0 I play one more song \u2013 a beautiful and spiritual one called \u201cLife Is Eternal.\u201d \u00a0I get strength from the music and lyrics.<\/p>\n

We wait for the funeral home to come.\u00a0 It is now about 4:30 p.m. \u00a0The van pulls up.\u00a0 The men come in with the gurney.\u00a0 Kevin kisses his Zaida farewell.\u00a0 They lift him from the bed, his legs now mummified in a fetal-like position.\u00a0 He is like a statue with my dad\u2019s face.\u00a0 They cover him up in a grey blanket.\u00a0 They strap him in and a black cover is placed over the gurney. We all intuitively form a circle around Dad, as they head towards the front door. \u00a0As they pass me, I reach for a nearby plant that had been given to my dad, and place two flowers on the black cover \u2013 one wilted and one in bloom.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Yale and I sit on the front steps as they put my dad in the back of the van, and drive away forever.\u00a0 Neighbours console us; children are playing on the street.\u00a0 The bed is unassembled and the dining room returns to its normal position.\u00a0 Only good and bad memories remain.<\/p>\n

Leeya phones from a friend\u2019s and enquires about her Zaida.\u00a0 I tell her the sad news.\u00a0 I go to visit her at her friend\u2019s house.\u00a0 She is emotionless, curious and accepting.\u00a0 I drive around.\u00a0 I go to Foxwarren Park on the non-pedestrian side where the birds gather.\u00a0 The air still feels good and the breeze is comforting.\u00a0 I watch the seagulls spiral over the lake.\u00a0 Feeling somewhat embarrassed, I raise my arms in the air and tentatively ask, \u201cDad, if you\u2019re out there, please give me a sign?\u201d\u00a0 Just then a lone seagull swoops by me, away from the lake where it had been circling with the others.\u00a0 I watch as it gracefully flies towards the sun. \u00a0I feel comforted.\u00a0 The seven month journey is now over and my dad is free at last.<\/p>\n

Read Part One\u00a0of Diane’s story about her dad here, “I Want To Die At Home”.<\/a><\/p>\n

Back to <\/strong>Stories<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

October 11th \u2013 a Friday, one of those perfect fall days.\u00a0 The air is crisp and the trees are bright as they glisten in the sun.\u00a0 Children are playing on the street.\u00a0 How can all of this be happening while my dad lies in a hospital bed in our dining room, taking what will soon […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[23,29,7],"tags":[130,24,126,131],"class_list":["post-1415","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-health","category-loss","category-relationships","tag-aging","tag-cancer","tag-health","tag-loss"],"aioseo_notices":[],"views":11611,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thriveinlife.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1415","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thriveinlife.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thriveinlife.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thriveinlife.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thriveinlife.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1415"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.thriveinlife.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1415\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thriveinlife.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1415"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thriveinlife.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1415"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thriveinlife.ca\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1415"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}