Sunday, June 29, 2008
Fade to Black (Update 7)
My aunt hosted a large family dinner at her home last night. While it was a wonderful time of connection, stories and tears it was also missing my dad. We all talked about the wonderful and colorful stories he told so well, yet him not being there to insist on their truth and tell new ones felt foreign. Having this dinner without him seemed just out of order I guess. Several times I thought I saw him out of the corner of my eye.
Earlier in the day I went with my brother, uncle and aunt to my father’s apartment to clean it out. That really felt out of order! Sorting through the belongings of someone and cleaning their home as if they’re already gone left me feeling strange.
My dad looked the best he has at any point over the last few weeks when we saw him yesterday evening at about 6:30pm. His hair was clean and combed nicely and his skin was soft and smooth. The bruises on his hands from the many IVs had faded and were almost gone. He was warm and actually looked cozy under his favorite blanket. Gifts from grandchildren and nephews and nieces were everywhere.
There were a couple baseballs signed by children who were struggling to make sense of what was going on. Their innocent faces and questions through this time have been beyond precious. Balancing eternity and death and the weight of it all takes time to penetrate their minds. It seemed confusing to some of them to see their parents and uncles and aunts struggling so mightily with their emotions.
The Nashville contingency of the family had made plans to head back home this morning. The original plan was for them to go by the hospital one more time before hitting the road. The left at about 8:30am, but decided to skip the visit and head east toward Tennessee. At a little after 9:30 a nurse from the ICU called to tell us that my dad’s vital signs were showing signs of early shutdown. His blood pressure dipped as did the oxygen level in his lungs. We were getting dressed to head into the hospital anyway, but this call kicked us into high gear. The Nashville contingency turned around on the interstate without exiting and headed back to the hospital too.
Fifteen minutes later my father’s doctor called from home. He shared the same information and suggested that today would probably be the day. Before we hung up, he said, “I may not see you again, but I wanted to thank you for your courage and the manner with which you interacted with me. I’ll honestly miss you.” I was so touched. I knew that we had developed a very nice working relationship and mutual understanding, but it seems that I had some impact on him too. Some of my family members were critical of his style and communication, but I know that he honored my dad as much as any of us. He gave him his best despite my father fighting him hard along the way – same as any of us. Above all, he restored dignity to my dad in his final days and hours. He made it so that we could spend some special time with him as he honored dad’s wishes. I may be alone in my family, but I will always be thankful to Dr. John Metcalf.
When we got to his room my dad still looked good. I rubbed his arm and squeezed his hand. His breaths had slowed to short and shallow. All the numbers on the monitors looked askew and out of place. Small numbers were where big numbers should be and alarms rang out off and on as if someone was leaning on the controls.
After a few minutes at my dad’s side, I felt the urge to get alone again. The noise of the competing voices and elevating volume levels was wearing on me in conjunction with everything else. I took off my gown and slipped out of the room. I found a small waiting area near the ICU waiting room. The lights were off and it was cool and empty. I sat down and pulled out my iPod again. I sat in the dark and played music that reminded me of my father. This move to the black waiting area was not an attempt to avoid what was reality, but to pull into a quiet place and meditate in a sense. I found the score to the western, ‘Dances With Wolves’ and turned it up almost all the way. I could see my dad as a cowboy on the back of a strong horse riding into an old western town. I also played another instrumental called, ‘Once Upon a Time in the West’. To have had the music from ‘Field of Dreams’ would have been perfect.
One of my uncles managed to find me about ten minutes later and softly told me that it was probably a good idea that I go into dad’s room. His vital signs had really dipped again. I hopped up and headed back without a word. As I entered the room and moved to the side of the bed where I had spent most of my week, I could see that his skin looked a little pale. I held his limp hand and bent down to his face. I held there for a few seconds as my eyes filled with the tears of a lifetime of memories – some good, some tough; but all mine. I kissed his cheek for what I was sure would be the last time.
I stood up and grabbed dad’s hand with my left and clutched my aunt’s shoulder with my right. She leaned in and told her brother she loved him in a way that I will always hear. As she stepped back and grabbed my waist, an alarm on the monitor sounded. The top section which measures heart rate was flashing an ‘X’. The oxygen level section read, ‘0’. I asked my aunt what she did, thinking that she had bumped into the monitor. This was the first phase of denial for all of us as we checked his chest for his monitors and the connections of all the wires as his face faded from pale to ashen and his breathing slowly stopped. It was over. I checked the clock in the room as soon as I realized and accepted that my dad was gone. It was 11:21am.
The resident doctor came in and confirmed what we all knew. Even though we were honoring his wishes to die peacefully, we all wished inside that there was some mistake and that his breathing would pick back up. The young doctor told us he was sorry and offered us some time. My cousin asked him to remove the oxygen mask, which he did.
A minute later I retreated to my dark, isolated waiting room and sat in silence again. No music this time, just the ringing in my ears. As I closed my eyes the memories that I saw in a flash when I kissed my dad’s head, played like the coming attractions before a movie. It was 1972, 75, 81, 83, 86, 92, 95 and everything in between. I opened my eyes and it was still 2008. I didn’t cry this time. I just needed the silence and darkness for a while. In my quiet darkness it occurred to me how precious it was for me to escort from this life, one of the two people who welcomed me into it.
Earlier in the day I went with my brother, uncle and aunt to my father’s apartment to clean it out. That really felt out of order! Sorting through the belongings of someone and cleaning their home as if they’re already gone left me feeling strange.
My dad looked the best he has at any point over the last few weeks when we saw him yesterday evening at about 6:30pm. His hair was clean and combed nicely and his skin was soft and smooth. The bruises on his hands from the many IVs had faded and were almost gone. He was warm and actually looked cozy under his favorite blanket. Gifts from grandchildren and nephews and nieces were everywhere.
There were a couple baseballs signed by children who were struggling to make sense of what was going on. Their innocent faces and questions through this time have been beyond precious. Balancing eternity and death and the weight of it all takes time to penetrate their minds. It seemed confusing to some of them to see their parents and uncles and aunts struggling so mightily with their emotions.
The Nashville contingency of the family had made plans to head back home this morning. The original plan was for them to go by the hospital one more time before hitting the road. The left at about 8:30am, but decided to skip the visit and head east toward Tennessee. At a little after 9:30 a nurse from the ICU called to tell us that my dad’s vital signs were showing signs of early shutdown. His blood pressure dipped as did the oxygen level in his lungs. We were getting dressed to head into the hospital anyway, but this call kicked us into high gear. The Nashville contingency turned around on the interstate without exiting and headed back to the hospital too.
Fifteen minutes later my father’s doctor called from home. He shared the same information and suggested that today would probably be the day. Before we hung up, he said, “I may not see you again, but I wanted to thank you for your courage and the manner with which you interacted with me. I’ll honestly miss you.” I was so touched. I knew that we had developed a very nice working relationship and mutual understanding, but it seems that I had some impact on him too. Some of my family members were critical of his style and communication, but I know that he honored my dad as much as any of us. He gave him his best despite my father fighting him hard along the way – same as any of us. Above all, he restored dignity to my dad in his final days and hours. He made it so that we could spend some special time with him as he honored dad’s wishes. I may be alone in my family, but I will always be thankful to Dr. John Metcalf.
When we got to his room my dad still looked good. I rubbed his arm and squeezed his hand. His breaths had slowed to short and shallow. All the numbers on the monitors looked askew and out of place. Small numbers were where big numbers should be and alarms rang out off and on as if someone was leaning on the controls.
After a few minutes at my dad’s side, I felt the urge to get alone again. The noise of the competing voices and elevating volume levels was wearing on me in conjunction with everything else. I took off my gown and slipped out of the room. I found a small waiting area near the ICU waiting room. The lights were off and it was cool and empty. I sat down and pulled out my iPod again. I sat in the dark and played music that reminded me of my father. This move to the black waiting area was not an attempt to avoid what was reality, but to pull into a quiet place and meditate in a sense. I found the score to the western, ‘Dances With Wolves’ and turned it up almost all the way. I could see my dad as a cowboy on the back of a strong horse riding into an old western town. I also played another instrumental called, ‘Once Upon a Time in the West’. To have had the music from ‘Field of Dreams’ would have been perfect.
One of my uncles managed to find me about ten minutes later and softly told me that it was probably a good idea that I go into dad’s room. His vital signs had really dipped again. I hopped up and headed back without a word. As I entered the room and moved to the side of the bed where I had spent most of my week, I could see that his skin looked a little pale. I held his limp hand and bent down to his face. I held there for a few seconds as my eyes filled with the tears of a lifetime of memories – some good, some tough; but all mine. I kissed his cheek for what I was sure would be the last time.
I stood up and grabbed dad’s hand with my left and clutched my aunt’s shoulder with my right. She leaned in and told her brother she loved him in a way that I will always hear. As she stepped back and grabbed my waist, an alarm on the monitor sounded. The top section which measures heart rate was flashing an ‘X’. The oxygen level section read, ‘0’. I asked my aunt what she did, thinking that she had bumped into the monitor. This was the first phase of denial for all of us as we checked his chest for his monitors and the connections of all the wires as his face faded from pale to ashen and his breathing slowly stopped. It was over. I checked the clock in the room as soon as I realized and accepted that my dad was gone. It was 11:21am.
The resident doctor came in and confirmed what we all knew. Even though we were honoring his wishes to die peacefully, we all wished inside that there was some mistake and that his breathing would pick back up. The young doctor told us he was sorry and offered us some time. My cousin asked him to remove the oxygen mask, which he did.
A minute later I retreated to my dark, isolated waiting room and sat in silence again. No music this time, just the ringing in my ears. As I closed my eyes the memories that I saw in a flash when I kissed my dad’s head, played like the coming attractions before a movie. It was 1972, 75, 81, 83, 86, 92, 95 and everything in between. I opened my eyes and it was still 2008. I didn’t cry this time. I just needed the silence and darkness for a while. In my quiet darkness it occurred to me how precious it was for me to escort from this life, one of the two people who welcomed me into it.
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