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.

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