When my dad finally got approved to go to a specific hospice, he was moved so quickly.
Thank God, I thought. There they would give him pain meds. They would attend to him when he Shat himself.
I thought, finally, he’d get the empathy to die in a dignified way.
I was right.
His room had Himalayan salt lamps. Cable, for the ones who would camp out in the room waiting for the inevitable.
Staff came in regularly to check his pain levels and to check on me and my mom.
In the last day, after a harrowing night of dad moaning and moaning, a nurse came in and spoke loudly and clearly.
“Benny, are you in pain?”
My dad opened his eyes wide to look at him and said, slowly and clearly, “No, I am not in any pain.”
There was a clarity in the way he said it.
I believed him.
Important because in my active imagination he was writhing in pain.
It was late. Mom fell asleep soundly like she’d never in her life.
I couldn’t sleep. I held his hand and listened to him.
At around 10pm, he said “no, I don’t want to be with you now.”
Around 11pm, he said “Apple pie”. To this day I don’t know the significance of this.
At 12am, there was the death rattling that the hospice nurse told me about.
He was motionless from the hips down. I felt his ankle and it was ice cold.
Apparently, your body takes its time and shuts down in stages.
I sensed that I needed to leave him alone so I went to sleep for about 30 minutes.
When I woke, there was no sound.
I lay there in silence. I knew he was gone.
The nurse came in and confirmed it.
He was dead.
I whispered to her that I would be climbing into bed with my mom and I’d break the news.
It was the closest I’d ever felt to anyone. There was a calmness in this finality.
Mom and I have never been closer.
We end every conversation with an I love you.
Losing him was devastating.
I’m great full to have not gone through it alone.