Sometimes, things happen that you just cannot explain and it leaves you with a feeling of mystery and intrigue. My dad, who was not only my father, but one of my best friends, passed away in February, 2002. I miss him dearly, and suppose I always will.
My dad had been ill for almost 2 years, and his last one was spent in a nursing home. He suffered from dementia and also had an abdominal aortic aneurism working against his well-being. My mom had kept him at home as long as possible, but when he wandered off one day while she was cutting grass in the backyard, that was the turning point. The doctors suggested it was time to make a tough decision.
Dad had not recognized any of his family for the past four months. He would speak to us as if we were one of his friends, and tell fragmented stories that most times, made no sense. It was very heartbreaking to watch him slip further and further into his own little world. Then, the last two months, he did not speak a word – just stared and smiled. By the time the last three weeks of his life rolled around, he stopped staring and smiling altogether. Dad now spent his days lying in bed, incapable of performing the simplest of everyday tasks.
It was a busy day, that Wednesday, and it started for me at 5:30 a.m., when the alarm clock announced it was time to get up and get moving. My husband was flying to Las Vegas for a trade show, so I had to drive him to the airport because he did not want to leave his car in the parking lot all week. When I returned home from the 45 minute drive, I then headed south to visit my dad. The drive to the nursing home took about 35 minutes. I remember it was snowing and quite gloomy outside. The weather was very appropriate for the events of the day.
When I walked into dad’s room, he was fast asleep and so was my mom, who had spent the night sitting in a chair next to dad. I quietly slipped into the space on the other side of dad’s bed, sat down, and waited for one of them to wake up. What seemed like a million thoughts came into my mind that morning – what-ifs, should-haves, I-remembers and a lot of I-hopes. I also remember thinking it was now my turn to take care of my parents. The roles had switched.
Mom woke up and said she was going to go home, take a shower and change clothes, since I was up there and could watch over dad. I told her that would be a good idea, and walked her down to her car. She told me dad had a rough night and was very restless. She said she would be back as quickly as she could. I then walked back upstairs to my dad’s room, where he was still asleep.
It was around 12:30 when he finally stirred and woke up. I told him “good morning, sleepyhead” and in return, he smiled and winked at me. I was shocked at his reaction! He had not responded to anyone in three weeks. I held his hand and he squeezed mine. Then I started talking about all the great things we did together, like fishing, boating, vacationing and also the things my grandfather used to do to make us all laugh. He was smiling and squeezing my hand! A nurse came into the room and saw what was happening. She told me that what dad was doing was truly amazing. She went back to the nurse’s station and brought back another nurse, so she could also witness what was happening. I was elated. I think a small part of me thought he might be getting better. I continued to have this incredible “conversation” with my dad for 45 minutes. Then he simply slipped back into his own little world and was silent and non-responsive again.
Mom came back around 2:00. I told her what had taken place and she was so happy that he had come back around, even if only for a short time. We sat and talked for two hours and then it was time for me to get back home to my children and get dinner ready. I kissed my dad on the cheek, gave my mom a hug and drove back home. The call came from mom at 6:47 that evening. Dad had passed away, without regaining consciousness. It left me with a bittersweet feeling. I was glad he no longer had to suffer.
I still think about my last conversation with my dad quite often. I can’t explain what happened to bring him back to me for those 45 minutes, but I do know that I will be eternally grateful for those final minutes and the conversation I had with him.
I miss him dearly, and suppose I always will.