the final hours
the phone call was inevitable. i just didn’t anticipate it so quickly.
the correspondence with my mom increased over the past several weeks in the form of random text messages citing good or bad days, requesting me to log into skype, or noting that she would call me when she had a chance. and while my communication with her was on the rise, conversations with my dad were noticeably absent. he couldn’t type as well. his voice was hoarse, and his throat was sore.
i guess these were the signs.
on wednesday, june 16, i video chatted with mom and dad. dad was up and about with the aid of his walker. the pixelation of the webcam masked what i would soon discover in person: dad was wearing down. he was aging quickly. and his body was failing. regardless, that night his spirits were up while his little bird legs moved him around the house with relative ease. despite his good day, it wouldn’t be a conversation with dad without some sort of dark commentary on his ailing health.
“i’ve seen both of my girls, so now i can die.”
“DAD! i’m coming home in three weeks, you can make it!”
but he wouldn’t.
two days went by before i heard from mom next. it was late friday on west coast time, and her message sounded labored and tired.
“…last two days with dad have been hell…”
she didn’t want to talk then, but i started to worry. except, how bad could it have gotten in two days? i just talked to him and saw him on skype, and things seemed as normal as they could be for a man enduring his twenty-first month of cancer.
mom called the next morning, filling me in on the past two days of tribulations. dad stopped eating. dad stopped talking. a glassy expression remained on his face. he barely got out of his hospice bed, and when he did, it was with great difficulty. and then, he soiled himself, a sign that he was losing his faculties. at that point, my sister screamed they weren’t equipped to deal with his rapidly deteriorating condition.
upon hearing all this, i asked mom if i needed to move up my flight. asking for her older sister’s council, she said that she didn’t think it was necessary quite yet. but i told naz that i wouldn’t be surprised if i heard from mom later in the day or in the evening to make my way home.
i tried to fill the next few hours of uncertainty with household chores and our normal saturday activities. but then sissy started texting me, giving me an indication that the end was nearer than we all thought.
“sissy, i wish you were here…he looks like grandpa did. i can’t stand to be downstairs. i know he’s dying, but i don’t want to watch him die.”
and not long after sissy’s last text message, mom called again. in between tears, she told me that sissy wanted me home and that everyone thought it was for the best. after clarifying who “everyone” was (sissy, grandma, a cousin, a few aunts), i set off for purchasing airfare. canceling my initial trip for three weeks out and landing a flight later that night, i knew i was in for a slew of sleepless nights and a scene i had never laid eyes on before.
by sunday morning, i had been up essentially 24 hours, minus a couple hours of light napping on the red eye. two of my aunts were there to greet me at the airport, their eyes already red from tears. one aunt held me tight while we navigated through the baggage area and into the parking lot. i appreciated the support, though admittedly, at that time our arm-in-arm walking meant more to me because of my fatigue, not because of my grief. that was yet to come.
after an hour in the car, i returned to my childhood home. though our home was full of people, the only people i remember greeting at first was sissy then mom. and then i threw down my bags before rushing to dad’s side. covered in nothing more than a sheet and a wash cloth on his forehead, i grabbed his hand and told him i made it home. mom had told him three hours earlier that i was en route, and he was able to grin slightly.
his eyes couldn’t hold a gaze; his body wouldn’t hold still. he was uncomfortable and restless. and since my arrival, everyone told him that he was free to go. we knew he was waiting specifically for me. he had already seen my sister; she had been home for six days since returning from australia. but despite his obvious discomfort and pain, he wasn’t ready to rest yet.
for the next twelve hours our home rotated relatives and friends in and out. some stayed to offer emotional support as well as hospice support. others stopped by for only a moment since they couldn’t bear to see dad suffering as he was. the hospice nurse came in with instructions for heavier medication that was to be administered every two hours. she initially stated that dad wasn’t ready to leave us yet; it could be up to three days before he let go. but as she spent a couple more hours with all of us and with dad, her tune started to change.
“i won’t be surprised if i get a call from you later this evening.”
with the combination of liquid ativan and morphine running through his veins, his body relaxed and his face softened. his eyes finally closed. and ironically since the removal of his trach, he was able to rest and breathe easier. though he started to look peaceful, we couldn’t ignore his cold, clammy limbs and the mottling of his skin.
the traffic in our house died down, but mom’s four sisters remained. they busied themselves with the dishes or ran to get food. early evening brought nap time for most, and a comforting quiet fell on the living room: mom on the couch, sissy and me on the floor, and dad in his hospice bed. the serenity reminded me of times growing up when we all took naps after a day at the pool.
“dying is hard work.”
dad said this a few days prior, and it couldn’t be more true. passing the time proved quite difficult, and none of us wanted to leave the living room for fear of missing any final moments. sissy and i set up an “internet lounge” on the couch; mom dug out some old photo albums; we all started reminiscing; naz called me on skype to be as much a part of the final hour as he could be. hushed conversations circulated among us, but then my sister and i would burst out laughing about random things. leave it to us to keep things lively; dad would have wanted it that way anyway.
with the time nearing eleven o’clock in the evening, one of mom’s sisters bowed out, her eyes struggling to stay open. another sister felt sticky and dirty and decided to run home to shower, but she’d be back. her other sister had left a bit earlier to spend time with a husband she’s rarely seen the past two months thanks to his work. all who remained were me, sissy, mom, and one sister—the only sister who had already lost her husband.
i had been sitting by dad’s bed when i noticed a tear streaming from his right eye.
“dad’s crying.”
we all looked up, but he hadn’t moved. i wiped the tear, and he stirred slightly. moments later we noticed his facial expression change dramatically, but slowly. his teeth started to show. his forehead crinkled. a low rumble came from his mouth as he gritted his teeth. his eyes opened partially, but his eyelids dropped immediately. and then he expelled his final breath. his chest contracted two more times before all movement ceased. mom gasped.
“i think that’s it.”
it turns out, dad just wanted some peace and quiet. he didn’t want fanfare or a big to-do. he didn’t want a group of people around his bed with hands joined reciting the “our father.” he didn’t need someone holding his hand every moment of the day. he simply wanted his last father’s day to be with his girls and only his girls.
so with an hour left of father’s day, june 20, dad was gone.