In Memory of Dad

Ten years ago today I was standing in a hospital room with about ten or fifteen other relatives, watching my Dad take his last breaths. I was taking his pulse as I felt his very last heartbeat - and I was certain I knew the moment his spirit left his body. It was the first time I had ever seen anyone die.

Three weeks prior to Dad's death we were admitting my Mom to the hospital for knee replacement surgery. Dad had been suffering from a severe headache - we all thought it was the flu. My sister (an RN) noticed Dad was having weakness on one side, so immediately after seeing Mom off to surgery, she escorted Dad to the Emergency Room to get checked out. The doctors ran some tests and admitted Dad to the hospital. A couple of hours later I was visiting Dad in his hospital room, and I noticed he was very confused and did not know where he was, or what was going on. He thought he was still back in Arizona, and that my brother had just made him the best cheeseburger he'd ever had. I immediately alerted the nurses to Dad's confusion and told them he appeared to be experiencing some short-term memory loss. By the time test results came back, Dad's stroke had worsened, and that evening they took him off to surgery to put a shunt in his brain. The surgeon's predictions were dire - he said if Dad survived 24 hours, he would likely be a "vegetable". I was sitting in the ICU waiting room with my oldest brother when the surgeon gave us the news. It was all very surreal.

Amazingly, Dad survived the surgery and within a couple of days was alert and talking, although he still experienced some weakness on one side, as well as some confusion. Some of that could have been attributed to the medications he was on, but it looked like Dad was going to pull through this stroke and survive. However, infection began to set into his body, and he began to worsen. I can't remember all the details - one day seemed to blur into the next with all the stress of having Mom in Rehab for her knee, Dad in the ICU - and on top of all that, we were moving. I had three little children at home and was juggling them between friends who were generous enough to watch them.

Dad had to be in restraints in the ICU because he kept trying to pull out tubes and fiddle with lines and leads that went to the monitors. I noticed that if someone was in the room talking, he would relax and listen. If it got quiet in the room, he would pull against his restraints. Having the tv on made no difference - he wanted to hear someone talking. I think he must have felt alone and scared. So I started to read to him - the Bible and Reader's Digest. I went to the Bible book store and purchased the New Testament on tape - and even the nurses would play the tapes for him. As long as there was was someone talking or the tapes were playing, he would remain calm. Many times I encouraged Dad to be sure that he was ready to meet his Creator and I prayed with him many times.

Shortly before we had to make the decision to cease all treatment and move him out of the ICU I saw a friend of mine, who is a doctor, and told him about what was going on with Dad. He had just admitted a patient of his to ICU and he looked over Dad's chart - and he told me the infection was not survivable. I was shocked - no one had been so blunt to me up to that point about the seriousness of Dad's condition. The next morning we moved Dad to a regular hospital room and decided to cease the feeding tube but continue the IV fluids and pain medications as needed. One very rude and angry nurse chewed me out for "allowing" Dad to have IV fluids - she said it was time for him to die and the fluids could keep him alive for weeks. I was dismayed that someone who did not know our family and had not followed Dad's case could make such a harsh judgement call. We had made the decision to cease all "heroic" or invasive treatments (ventilators, further surgery, etc.) as a family - it was not my decision to make alone. The day we had to make that decision I looked the doctor in the eye and asked him if it was HIS Dad how he would handle the situation - and he gave us some very good advice. In the end it was my Mom's final decision anyway. I was only there for moral support. That nurse's harsh criticism made the situation even more painful and difficult.

The morning of Dad's death we decided to cease IV fluids. It was obvious death was imminent and we wanted all the tubes gone. I asked Dad if he could hear me, to squeeze my hand - and I felt a little squeeze. I told him he was not going to be with us much longer - and urged him once again to be sure he was ready to go. I prayed with him and asked him if he knew he was ready to squeeze my hand again. One little tug, one little movement of the fingers from his once very strong hand - and my heart was assurred. Daddy was ready to go Home. Sometimes, especially now that Mom is gone too, I miss him so much that I cry. I wish I could see him chuckle over a shared joke, or over the children's antics. I wish he could have seen our youngest two children, born after he was gone. Our youngest child is named after him. It makes me sad they will never know the man who worked so hard all his life, and had such strong, capable hands, and could fix anything he set out to fix. I'll have to settle with sharing my memories of him with my children, and living with the hope that I will get to see him again someday.

Shortly before Dad died I heard the words to this song on the radio - "Just think...of stepping on shore, and finding it heaven ~ of touching a hand, and finding it God's ~ of breathing new air, and finding it celestial! Of waking up in Glory ~ and finding it Home."