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THE WEEK MY
FATHER DIED
I was at work when
my mother called to tell me that dad had been rushed to the hospital the night
before, suffering from excruciating pain in his abdomen.
Dad had been
diagnosed with prostate cancer about fifteen years earlier and it had spread to
other parts of his body, but he had been doing fairly well so there was no
reason to anticipate something like this.
Mom told me that
dad had spent quite a bit of time at the hospital while they ran numerous tests
to discover the cause of his pain. Long story short, his kidneys were failing
and there was nothing that could be done. He was sent home with a hospice
nurse, so that he could be with his family in comfortable surroundings when the
end came.
We rented a
hospital bed and put it next to the front window so that he could see outside
into the yard. We kept instrumental hymns playing on the stereo and moved mom's
chair closer to the bed so that she could be nearer to him.
And that's when
things started to get a little crazy.
James, my seeing
eye son, was living with mom and dad at the time, and my sister, who I was
living with at the time, drove out with me every day. Gail, my other sister, also came out daily,
as did her husband, her four children and their collection of young ones.
Gail's grandkids
were all under ten and did not really understand the severity of the situation.
They knew that Papa was going home to see Jesus, but that was about as far as
it went. Gail's family had never lived close to mom and dad, so their kids only
saw my parents three or four times a year. None of them had a close
relationship with dad, so the thought of losing him did not rate overly high on
their radar.
For five days, the
kids ran through the house, slamming the doors and yelling to each other. Even
when they were sent outside, the noise was loud enough to be heard everywhere
in the house. Their respective parents would occasionally tell them to tone it down,
but they were kids and that's what kids do.
At one point, one
of my nephews-in-law decided to commemorate the occasion by putting it on film.
He videotaped everyone going to my father's side and saying goodbye. Maybe it
was the stress of the situation, but I didn't like what he was doing. My
father's death was not a photo-op, and I resented anything that made it seem
that way.
I remember being
called into the living room and told to say something to dad. I had already
spoken to him several times, telling him that I loved him and assuring him that
mom would be taken care of. Having my niece's husband dictate to me where to
stand and how long to talk so that he could get it on film, was infuriating.
As six families
moved through the house each day, my mother spent most of her time sitting with
dad, reading the Bible to him and making the most of the time that remained.
She loved having her family close, but as the days passed, I could see that the
noise and constant disruption was getting to her. I did speak to my nieces
individually on several occasions, asking if they could please keep the kids
quiet, at least in the house. They always said they would, and I know that they
meant it at the time, but it never happened. The noise, the chasing from room
to room, and the constant interruptions into my parents' private space,
continued. I could see that it was upsetting my mother, and I finally decided
to put my foot down.
I took my mom and
Gail into the bedroom and asked mom what she wanted or needed. She thought
about it for a long moment and then said, very simply, that she wanted to
answer the phone. Either Gail or one of her daughters had been taking the phone
calls and making a list of the callers. Mom wanted to speak to those people,
most of them from her church, and was upset that she was not being allowed to
do so. And she wanted the volume around her to be turned down to a much less
disruptive level.
Gail said that she
would take care of it, and she did. Within hours, her grandkids had been taken
by their fathers to another location. I didn't know where they went, and I
didn't much care. They were gone, the house was quiet, and that was all that
mattered to me.
Later in the day,
James, my other sister Sharon and I,
took mom to Cold
Stone for some ice cream. Dad was fairly unresponsive by then, so she felt that
it was okay to take a little break.
We were gone for
about an hour, and by the time we got back, everyone else was back as well. But
at least mom had a few hours of uninterrupted time with dad, and I'm so
grateful that the girls understood and were willing to do what was needed to
give her that.
My father passed
that night, surrounded by family and carried home on the sound of our voices
singing his favorite hymns. Standing in a semi-circle around the bed, we held
hands as we sang, while my brother-in-law, a minister, laid his hands on my
father's head and prayed him home.
As cancer deaths
go, my father's was fairly quick. He had been fully functional up until the
night he went to the emergency room, enjoying his life without much discomfort.
He avoided the long hospital stays and horrific pain that are so often a part
of that kind of death. My aunt Gloria died of lung cancer when I was eighteen
or so. I went to see her in the hospital, and I remember a shrunken figure in the
bed, hooked up to monitors and numerous IV lines. Her time of dying took
several long and torturous weeks, and I will always be thankful that my father
was spared a similar end. I would have hated to have my last memory of this
strong and vital man, be that of a wasted shadow of the man that he had always
been.
I thank the Lord
that it didn't go that way.
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Rhani, you obviously were dealing with lots of emotions at the time of your father's illness and subsequent death. I call it grieving. You will get through it. Take care & enjoy your day.
ReplyDeleteI agree with you, Shirley. And I think she handled it all quite well. I may not have behaved so well in her shoes.
DeleteThank you, Shirley. *Hugs*
DeleteThank you for sharing Rhani's piece, Yvette!
ReplyDeleteThanks for stopping by, Jan. :-)
DeleteYvette, thanks for hosting to give Rhani a platform for her tender story.
ReplyDeleteI'm happy you stopped by, Peggy. :-)
DeleteYvette, Thank you for hosteen my stop on the tour. I sure do appreciate it. 😀
ReplyDeleteIt was my pleasure, Rhani. :-)
Delete