a short memoir of my terminally ill father who stepped into the light four days after this was written.
Written: Monday . July 23, 2007. 11:45 pm
Tonight…in the summer humidity of an evening lit by half ness of the moon…I hear the softness of Italian folk songs from a small speaker box in the room adjacent.It is in this room where my father lies…in the solidarity of self…and the internal sense…that he may soon be leaving his family here...to meet the family gone…and traveled before him.And as I check from time to time…in the shadowed dimness of his room to see that he is in comfort…I recall the moments of the day.
The morning of his late awakening…and the fear of quiet…not usual to his voice…make this day different…unusual…and unlike the days prior.With respect for his independence…I let him sleep…and wake him not until the nurse shows to bathe him.In the terminal progression of an illness…I cannot erase…I feel lost…awaken him with the nurses aid and ready him for new clothes…new bedding…clean hair…a baptism in a bed.
To adjust and position a body in pain…makes one uncomfortable…but no more uncomfortable than the body the pain is living in. For a moment I leave the room…hear the broken English of the nurse in her Latin way…and as I reenter…she assures my father that things will be alright as she places her hand upon his…he with his eyes closed…attempting to communicate…in an airy voice…seemingly losing its vocal strength.I thanked Lilia and walked her to the front door…silent…into the heaviness of the clouded…thickness of the sultry sun.
It was then that my father’s pain disrupted the minutes of freshness that he felt…and seemed to be forgotten. And it was at this moment that I again chose to dispense the opiate angel…drops under his tongue…guardian of pain…allowing him once again to feel calm…untouched by the prior moments furrowed brow.In the seconds of quiet…my father withdrew into self…nodding up and down…upon my asking if he were no longer in pain.For a moment…I was relieved of his pain…as was he…but only for the moment.It was I…father and myself…into the afternoon…I and myself…for an hour or so after.
With my mother’s return…from needed business…the quietness of my father’s demeanor and the non-speaking demure of eyes seemingly far away…brought even more change…to the temperature of the afternoon become evening. It was noticeable to my mother that where my father was traveling on this afternoon…his eyes in unaware state…was a place she could not go…and in her fear of losing him…she called the priest…Father Bill.My mother in short breaths…told Father…that she thought it was time…thought it was time. And in this time…the nurse was also called to the house to evaluate…to see if this was the time…or time was running out.
My oldest sister was called and was the first to arrive.Father Bill was next…and with pace came through the entry and into my father’s room…greeted my father…along with my mother.My sister and I remained outside the room while we heard Father read aloud…what seemed to be the last rights…and with that were also summoned by Father...around my father’s bedside...giving strength and resound to the words he spoke from his book.My nephew also arrived and knelt by the chrome rail of the hospital bed with one hand upon his grandfather’s…strength…strength in the word…in the soul…in the moments. And unfamiliar…though the clouds masked the sun…it seemed that the heavens had brought rain indoors.
When Father Bill had finished with the list of Saints that would watch over and befriend my father…he closed his book…blessed each of us upon the forehead and went on his way.The immediate family began to arrive…along with Susie the nurse.Susie checked his heart and vital signs…confirming that they were still stable…and acknowledging my father’s discomfort…administered more of the opiate angel…which seemed to dispel clouds of unhappiness in my father’s tightly closed eyes.
The family members one by one stood beside my father’s beside…in privacy…trios…until one by one…slowly felt that time was getting closer…there was less time…that this was not yet the time.
And so in the adjoining room and yard…the back and forth wandering began…the silent consolation…that this time…for this moment…everything seemed to be there.Everyone…including my father…was still breathing…some faster than others…but we were all still breathing.An hour or two past amongst us all…now in converse…of other things…little by little letting go…letting go…of the moments…moments of fear…moments…heated moments…heavy like the overcast skies…outcast like the loss of someone close…and miscast…like misfortune that has seemingly come all too soon.
When the family had gone…with my mother asleep in her chair…far from the sullen moments of the day’s fate… the late night music had stopped in my father’s softly lit room.He was asleep…resting…and as I stepped out back of the house…gazing into the half moon…starlit sky…the humid heat of the day had let up just enough…and I felt coolness…for a moment…but I knew it would not last forever.
Reverence...that is what I feel when I read your story...I have not been present to experience one of my parents passing away, and yet...our own experience with watching our son pass away...I guess there are many similarities. Reverence was what I felt at that time too...the thinning of the veil and the almost palpable feel of heaven and angels in your midst. Ah! I just realized today is my heaven son's birthday...I guess the perfect day to have read this and thus relived my own moments with my son...
I especially felt your pain in this story. I wasn't there when my own mother died nor my father when he died. I heard about it second hand
and it was the worst pain I have ever endured. That is one thing I am glad about not having to go back in time and live that over again. I am not sure I could do it. suffering and sickness are hard on everyone and it takes courage and faith to get the will to live and carry on...I admire your courage and your talent. Keep writing!
katie
Reviewed by Harmony Blyth
5/30/2008
that was a lovely story John. it reminded me of my father beside his father's side in hospital as he was dying.
my grandmother was also by his side and he died as they were holding hands.My dad was called after he died, and he went in again, but this time to look at the stillness of his father. He then read mantras to him, to help him on his way.
This swelled tears as memories of my mothers passing spread vivid once again across my inner eye. Your feeling burst from the screen creating the seemingly serene scene.
“The family members one by one stood beside my father’s beside…in privacy…trios…until one by one…slowly felt that time was getting closer…there was less time…that this was not yet the time.”
Outwardly, all was silent as you stood in deep thought, while inside each heart and mind raced thoughts known only to their beholder. Excellent job, John, on a topic I suspect was very difficult to experience again.
Your writing has resurrected the pain I felt so long ago as I too watched my father wither and die from cancer. The anguish is fresh once again as I relive those unforgettable moments through your illustrious words.
You have done well in capturing the moment. Your gift is evident my dear John. I am sure your father smiles down on you from a better place and appreciates your talented efforts.
I absolutely love your writing style. It is so different and makes me wish I could do it myself. I cannot know without your telling me how you felt about being present for your father's passing, but I was glad I had the opportunity of being there with my own father, mother, brother, and more recently...in August, 2007...with my brother-in-law, Andy...when they departed this world. There is some inexplicable peace that comes over me when I witness a loved one...one who is suffering...take their flight from pain and suffering.
You have captured the plaintive struggle of living and dieing ,and in between. This write took me there, to his room ,into your moments with him, into your life. Facing the death of a loved one is very hard , yet knowing they'll be free from the pain of their illness gives respite to the human soul. A sad inciteful sharing......God Bless....M
You have a wonderful writing style...a true gift. I was transformed reading this, back to the final days of my dear Mother's life. We were lucky to be able to keep her at home where she was more comfortable and she passed away surrounded by her spouse, children and grandchildren. We were actually singing to her as she took her last breath...it was both the most tragic and the most beautiful moment that I was able to share with her.
Incredible that you could chronicle this! It is a parallel to exactly what we went through with my mom in 2005 (we being Catholic) - The drops under the tongue - the far-away look in her eyes - as she found her last comfort in Hospice - calling the Priest, his Litany of the Saints - the slipping ever so gradual into that twilight world - But I couldn't seem to write about it then... you have
That's a writer's calling for sure. Thank you.
John,
Amazing story of the moments before death, the 'waiting', the anquish one feels losing a loved one. Time stands still as hearts are breaking. Awesome story, John.
This reminds me of my father's passing when most of the family was around his hospital bed. Poignant sentiments, John. Thank you. Love and best wishes to you,
What an extraordinary moment to share, and yes, shared pain diminishes at the same rate as the number of the people we share with.
A journey inside a soul, looking from inside a son at the small things of a hospital bed, hearing the soft rusling of Nurse Susie's clothes, or the deep sacred mumblings of Father Bill giving the last rites, or the peaceful sleeping face of mother sitting in a chair after everybody's gone, and as a whole, all percolates that all the small details of the last moments of his father,
"...seemed to dispel clouds of unhappiness looking at my father's closed eyes..."
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Georg
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