The nurse didn't have to tell me my Dad was dying.
When I came in that day, he was lying immobile in one of the recliners, piled high with crisp white sheets, eyes closed.
It was my turn to be the loved one sitting with him in the hall, holding his hand, thinking of all the things I hadn't said or done. It was our turn to be invisible together as those sitting and visiting around us averted their eyes wondering when their turn would come.
Everyone there knew their turn would come.
That day, he rallied and opened his eyes as I came in and he heard my voice. He smiled weakly and tried to hail the nurse as she walked by.
"Look, Look who's here," he said softly, waving his fingers to get her attention and pointing at me.
She stopped and smiled at him and said, "I see her. Here she is. I told you she'd come."
He looked at her and said, "This is...this is...
this...is..."
He frowned slightly and his focus turned inward. I could see him sorting through all the empty file folders in all the emptying file drawers in his head looking for the one that had my face on the front... looking...looking...looking...
He tried and tried to find my name in his stripped and ragged memory......but I could tell my name was finally gone...for once and for all.
At last, in some dusty corner, he grabbed onto something that pleased him, that made sense to him, that made him smile, and he beamed up at her and said,
"Here she is, this is my...Friend."
He looked at me and smiled with great satisfaction that he had at last remembered who I was. It was a present to me wrapped with a big red bow.
Friend.
Was I?
I burned with guilt over the days I hadn't come, the cataract that I hadn't made arrangements to remove, the artwork that I had never commissioned to hang in the hall where he sat staring at nothing every day, the favorite foods I hadn't brought, the resentment and despair that I sometimes felt.
All my life my Dad had called me be-you-ti-ful girl, quick-on-my feet, smart, articulate, the best daughter a man could ever ask for...
Was I?
Was I?
I treasure that final gift he gave me when he was grasping for the vestiges of what we were to each other, the wisps of words lying in the deep recesses of a place he couldn't quite reach, the connection he could feel but no longer comprehend.
Or could he?
I take comfort that as he began shaking off this mortal coil...
...the last time he spoke...
...he called me Friend.
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Comments
my sis went thru guilt of not spending enough time with dad,
tho she came over every weekend to do yardwork ...
he'd chase her around, admonishing, 'ach, time for a BREAK, HAH?"
nope.
i was the sibling to sit by dad thru the end and
was richly rewarded.
last words: dying ; about to split
off into painless coma,
which i delivered for mom, too;
"Thank you for all your help today."
Poor sis.
i never questioned their love, my parents.
i stuck with em til the end and made a damn fool of myself
(NO JOB, NO SKILLS, A 40 YR OLD FAILURE)
doing it. but i got not a whit of guilt.
-r
ChiGuy - sometimes it can help to know you're not the only one, I hope it can help someone!
Sandra - I appreciate you coming by!
Scanner - I'm so, so sorry! It was a blessing to be with him at the end and just sit with him and hold his hand. I'm sorry you didn't get that chance.
Linnnn - It is the eyes that tell the true story! When I looked in myDad's eyes, I knew he was still there. When he really started losing words, we just sat and looked at each other and held hands.
Victoria - Thanks for dropping in!
Brazen Princess - Thank you also for your kind comment.
Manhattan White Girl - It's always good to see you!!
Deborah - Thanks for commenting!
Sarah - It was and still is a great comfort.
C berg - It's true that just being there is most often what matters more than anything else!
Claire's Angel - I do feel that both my parents are with me and a part of me always.
Tiffany - Thanks for coming by and commenting!!
Jeremiah - I agree with you that guilt is useless but those twinges of what could I have done better or different are still there. I live in the tension of feeling that I did better than I ever thought I could and didn't do nearly as well as I wish I might have. Thank you so much for coming by!
Barbara - If we're lucky, we never get used to our parents being gone because of how much they meant to us. I'm sorry about your Dad.
Gabrielle - Thank you for your comments!!!
Miguela - Thanks so much for coming by!
When my Dad died in Hospice, he was beyond last words... he could no longer speak. My brother and I stood a 24 hour vigil, taking twelve hour shifts so that when he died one of us would be there with him. On the sixth or seventh day, we left him with the nurse for an hour to go out and have dinner together. In the restaurant as we finished our shrimp, scallops and crab, my brother's cell phone buzzed. It was the nurse letting us know he'd passed away. I sadly smiled at my brother and said, "Just like that ornery SOB. to wait for us to leave the room before he died."
Rick chuckled and replied, "Yep, that's the way he was put together. Never wanted to make a fuss."
OMoM