The Day My Dad Died

I am forever changed by this privilege.  I equate watching someone die to the experience of having a baby, you think you know what to expect, but until it happens to you, you have no idea. I know I’m not the first person in my circle to lose a parent. I don’t claim to have any unique experience with it, except that it was my experience, and one that I will treasure.

The quickest back story is that my dad had been suffering with COPD and emphysema for years, I don’t know how many, but he had to have been struggling for over 7 years. Everyone around him was used to his shortness and gasping for breath and coughing spells. It was a normal occurrence. On December 3rd, dad chose to go home under hospice care. I found out about this from a phone call “Heather, I am a hospice nurse from Aultman and I want to speak to you about your dad’s choice to go home on hospice”.  Wait? What? He hadn’t shared this information with me! The next phone call was to my dad in Ohio. He said “I am tired of being sick, I am ready to die, I am alone and depressed”. Gulp. Okay, dad, I respect your decision, I just want to make sure you’re okay with this. He said yes. 

Fast forward to December 16th where dad had been admitted to the Aultman Compassionate Care Center in Canton. Dad died on December 19th.  The same day my daughter Sarah was born, 15 years ago. I had three days to spend with him. The first day he was himself, we said what we needed, but in a little bit of an awkward manner. I tried to be strong when he told me he was worried that I would be okay after he died. I said something like… Dad, we all die, it’s okay and I’ll be okay. The sting of tears were welling up, and then I looked away. We changed the subject and joked about not caring about something or other, because ( his words ) “hey, I’m going to die anyway” and we both laughed! He offered to me, the words I needed to hear; I love you. And I hugged his head and said that I loved him back. He said he didn’t want any services and I told him he had NO choice, that the funeral is for those he leaves behind and he rolled his eyes, knowing he didn’t have a chance to win this one.

I slept at mom’s that night and when I returned the next day, he was a little different, the lack of oxygen to his brain was confusing him, but he was still his “true” self. He was in and out that day. He had some visitors and I think he knew who they were. My mom ( his first wife and long time friend ), Fred, Greg and Sue, Tim, Mike and his brothers Larry and Gary. As the day went on, he faded even more, I was watching something I’d like to think was kind of amazing, as much as there is medical explanations for his behavior, I will continue to believe that his true personality was all I had left, he didn’t have memories or experiences to fall back on, only a behavior. And his behavior was super sweet. He was asking for silly things and winking at me and laughing, in between asking for some vodka! That didn’t last long. He then became agitated and uncomfortable. With the help of the nurses, we calmed him with meds and the magic of the aide, talking to him like an angel and rubbing his forehead, as you do to calm a baby. He relaxed and that was the last of my dad’s personality I saw again. He was loved into this next transition.

The days and hours get fuzzy, but the next day his best friends Denny and Greg came to say goodbye and the reason he held on as long as he did. Dad wasn’t responding by then, but I know, he knew, we were there. I went to sleep on the couch there at midnight, and woke up at 4am. I felt like I did when my kids were newborn babes, I listened to his breathing, and it changed, it changed a lot. I got up and went to him and knew then, we were on our way.

The staff came in and bathed him, preparing him for his transition from this life, to the next. I pulled up a chair and prepared. I texted Kathi because I didn’t want to feel alone. We moved the bed so that I could be as physically close to him as possible. I put some music on the mp3 player and settled in for, his last breath. I knew it was near, I knew we were minutes away. I was holding his hand with my left hand and rubbing his head with my right, I studied his face and told myself to be present in the enormity of this moment. I sang to him quietly. I couldn’t believe I was a witness to the beauty of death. He trusted me to hold his heart and soul in mine. His eye was open, I know it wasn’t in the manner of him looking at ME, but it was in the manner of ME looking into HIS soul. The moment of his last three breaths were soft, gentle, knowing, intimate, excruciating, peaceful and monumental, all wrapped up in a soul changing experience. For both of us. I knew his last breath when it came and there was nothing but, quiet. No more gasping, no more coughing, no more pain.

The spirit and the body need to be in agreement for death, and that transition was incredible. I felt a warmth and a chest weight all at once. And then, as my mind noticed the song playing, I just sat there, I didn’t move. I said to myself, there is no reason to panic, to move or to think, I just experienced him. I continued to rub his brow, I closed his open eye, I didn’t want to let go of his hand. I wanted a mental remembrance of this experience. My dad was still in there with me, for the next 10 minutes, our spirits co-mingled. I was sad, but I was honored too, it was beautiful and I’m not ashamed to say that. After he was taken into the funeral home’s care, I walked out. Very alone. Changed.

My dad died while the acoustic version of “Wild Horses” played, by The Riders