Note: This blog was written on Aug. 2, 2019. Dad passed away three days later at age 74 on Aug. 5, 2019.
Is today the day? We’ve been saying that for three weeks now as we watch Dad steadily decline and inch closer to the afterlife.
For two days, he’s had the tell-tale death rattle. His body, ravaged by cancer, is so worn out that he can’t clear his throat and breathing produces an unpleasant and harrowing gargling sound. For 48 hours, I’ve sat next to him and thought, “Nobody, especially somebody as active as my old man, should have to go out like this.”
We’ve been preparing for this moment for a while now, as much as you can. Doctors said he had two weeks. That was June 27. It’s Aug. 2. Countless times in the past few weeks we’ve sat next to my father, holding his hands, thinking the time has come. And countless times, he bounces back. It’s impressive, yet crushing.
I’m past the point of wanting him to stay around. For several months when doctors told him he had six months to live (that was nine months ago), several of us did what we could to extend his life. We looked at alternative treatments after we lost faith in conventional medicine (a blog for another day). We pleaded with him to continue receiving treatment when he decided he’d had enough in early June.
When Dad made that decision, he was in severe pain, to the point of crying. This is a man who has a ridiculously high tolerance for pain. But he’d had enough after months of fighting. He was at peace with God and ready to move on.
The decline came quickly. He started walking more slowly until he had to use a walker. Hospice sent a wheelchair, to which my dad predictably threw up metaphoric middle finger. He walked under his own power for several weeks, then with the walker. Only when he was relegated to bed earlier this week did he stop standing on his own and walking around. Impressive, yet crushing.
There has been a steady stream of tears as he edges closer to death. Every step in that direction is heartbreak. First, his ability to walk went. Then, his ability to speak. Seemingly every day, another piece of independence gone.
It’s also been tough to watch the toll this has taken on our family. We’re all exhausted. My sister-in-law has shown incredible resolve for a long time now, caring for Dad as if he was her father. My brother powered through work several days when he really wanted to be at home. The grandkids have broken down a few times. And the ones who have managed to hold it together … you can see the hurt in their eyes.
I haven’t slept in my own bed for 15 days now. I’ve seen my wife a few hours here and there during that time. Doing some work has helped. So has reconnecting with my brother and his family. There was never a break in our relationship, but we were busy with life and didn’t see each other often enough.
It hasn’t all been bad. Reconnecting has been a wonderful experience, and I truly believe that was part of God’s plan when Dad got sick. In addition, dozens of family and friends have visited my father or pitched into help in the past few months. It’s heart-warming to see. If there was ever in doubt about the impact I’ve had on my stepkids’ lives, they’ve been a rock, along with my wife.
One final thing: As much you tell yourself “I’m ready,” you won’t be. I’ve said that a thousand times in the last two weeks. I tell myself Dad did his job raising two good men, and it’s time to be in Heaven. I tell myself the pain and suffering he’s endured is going to end. But, deep in my heart, I know it’s going to hurt more than anything has when he passes. We’ll see if I’m as ready to move on as I keep telling myself.