My high school friends called him, "Indiana Jones." I wrote a paper about him in college. I have yet to stop meeting folks that were impressed with him. This is hard.
He lies just to my left. Short of breath. A faraway look in his open eyes (don't get me started on how odd it is to sleep with your eyes open). There's nothing I can do, nothing I can offer. So we sit.
Here we sit in Tidewell Hospice - a lovely room, clean - un-hospital like - foreign to him for the last 3 months since the stroke. I speak to him, unsure if he can hear. Unsure if he can respond.
*check - I glance over and he's peaceful.
We've got music playing and lights down low (open eyes and all). I got here last night - flew in with Reagan and so far, we've seen zero change. He's unresponsive, staring and has short, labored breathing.
* check - I glance over and he's peaceful.
I swear when I turn my eyes back to the laptop he's making faces at me.
And then he's gone. His eyes opened wider, breathing slowed. It was very peaceful
###
I wrote the above back in June and I can't bring myself to change or edit it. So there it is.
Since then, it's been a whirlwind of what is life without Dad. The familiar suddenly reminds me of Dad. The hardware store, Walts Market, every tool I own, everything brings his absence to mind. I was given the time for some deep thought.
The next workday after I got back home from Florida, I got a note from my company's CEO about meeting him. This can't be good. They had closed the office building but the plan was I'd still have a job, just working remotely. Seems I'd been fooled.
So, no job didn't bug me as my thoughts kept drifting back to Dad. And Mom, and my other Mom. The feeling of both parents now deceased is daunting, like walking out on a diving board over a cliff - it's just Rob and I. We've got a good family, friends, spouses to keep us sane but in the bloodline, we're orphans.
And oddly, there's a feeling I've been ready for this since September 13, 1984. Something at Mom's passing gave me the realization that both parents were going to pass one day and I'd not be caught off guard again. So perhaps, I pulled back from Dad, knowing that he could be taken at any moment. It's an odd realization.
But I know that's not true, because I am still not ready. Still so much left to learn from the man, so much to say. Did I do enough? Was I a good enough kid? I dunno but I suspect most folks ask themselves these questions.
So, I've found peace with his passing. I am OK. Life goes on. And I found a new job, restoring faith in myself. It's weird how that got all wound up in all of this.
He lies just to my left. Short of breath. A faraway look in his open eyes (don't get me started on how odd it is to sleep with your eyes open). There's nothing I can do, nothing I can offer. So we sit.
Here we sit in Tidewell Hospice - a lovely room, clean - un-hospital like - foreign to him for the last 3 months since the stroke. I speak to him, unsure if he can hear. Unsure if he can respond.
*check - I glance over and he's peaceful.
We've got music playing and lights down low (open eyes and all). I got here last night - flew in with Reagan and so far, we've seen zero change. He's unresponsive, staring and has short, labored breathing.
* check - I glance over and he's peaceful.
I swear when I turn my eyes back to the laptop he's making faces at me.
And then he's gone. His eyes opened wider, breathing slowed. It was very peaceful
###
I wrote the above back in June and I can't bring myself to change or edit it. So there it is.
Since then, it's been a whirlwind of what is life without Dad. The familiar suddenly reminds me of Dad. The hardware store, Walts Market, every tool I own, everything brings his absence to mind. I was given the time for some deep thought.
The next workday after I got back home from Florida, I got a note from my company's CEO about meeting him. This can't be good. They had closed the office building but the plan was I'd still have a job, just working remotely. Seems I'd been fooled.
So, no job didn't bug me as my thoughts kept drifting back to Dad. And Mom, and my other Mom. The feeling of both parents now deceased is daunting, like walking out on a diving board over a cliff - it's just Rob and I. We've got a good family, friends, spouses to keep us sane but in the bloodline, we're orphans.
And oddly, there's a feeling I've been ready for this since September 13, 1984. Something at Mom's passing gave me the realization that both parents were going to pass one day and I'd not be caught off guard again. So perhaps, I pulled back from Dad, knowing that he could be taken at any moment. It's an odd realization.
But I know that's not true, because I am still not ready. Still so much left to learn from the man, so much to say. Did I do enough? Was I a good enough kid? I dunno but I suspect most folks ask themselves these questions.
So, I've found peace with his passing. I am OK. Life goes on. And I found a new job, restoring faith in myself. It's weird how that got all wound up in all of this.
Comments