It's 11:59pm on Monday, October 19th when I am beginning this blog. Tonight I have begun my vigil at my dad's bedside. I intend to remain here until he dies. Or until I need a shower...whichever comes first...but if it's just a shower...I'll be back. :) It's good to still have a sense of humor.
I'm tired. Physically and emotionally, so bear with me. I don't know how much sense this will all make.
My dad has been talking to people I can't see for the past couple of hours. Some are very animated conversations. In some moments, I can just let it be...knowing it's a normal part of the dying process. At other times, it simply breaks my heart and I have to remove myself to another room.
When my mom was dying, I had no idea what was happening. Now, I think I know too much. And it's odd to have so much information, but then to have the emotions take over. I could help anyone else through this process with no problem. But this is my dad. MY dad. And I sit here in his room and I look around at furniture that came from my parent's home when we moved dad here to his assisted living community 2 1/2 years ago. I also see the wheelchair and the sponges for his mouth to keep it moist and the pads for his bed and so many other signs that simply break my heart.
This is the end. I would expect dad to die within the next several days. Every time it gets quiet, I check to see if he's breathing. Just like I did with my babies when they were little.
I turned down the lights and turned on some electric candles to quiet it down in here. The bright lights have been getting to me.
Who am I kidding...it's all getting to me.
I want to talk to these people my dad is talking to and just say, "Take him, dammit!" Good lord, how much longer does he have to go through this? But maybe he's not going through anything. Maybe it's just me. And in that case, I just have to be patient and let things happen as they are supposed to. Just as in birth. Death takes its own sweet time.
I left my office tonight after clearing my calendar for the rest of the week. And it was very clear to me that the next time I go to work, my world will have changed. I will be an adult orphan. My dad will be gone from this earth. That's life changing stuff.
Gosh, I am just so tired.
I hear my dad say, "Is it time to go?" "I see that." "What direction?" and I know that he's finding his way. I sit and just listen. I hold space. I allow things to play out as they are meant to. No matter how it makes me feel or how much my heart breaks. This is my job right now. My role. Be here. Hold space. Love him.
Let.Him.Go.
I have to let him go. I have to release him. I am his anchor to this world. And I have to pull anchor and set him free. I have been asking for him to hang on until I got here. I was so scared he was going to die while I was running my workshop all weekend. I didn't want to admit it, but I was. But now, here I am. It's time I let him go.
Surrender.
Release.
Let Go.
I'm not good at any of that. But I need to do it all right now.
It's 12:24am on October 20th as I'm bringing this to a close because my brain is too tired to go on. I just got off the phone with the hospice nurse who was lovely and chatted with me and told me she was going to get dad something asap to make him more comfortable. She also said that he sounds like he's "actively transitioning". Today could be the day my dad dies. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. But it will be soon. And it will break my heart. And I will grieve and mourn. And I will keep putting one foot in front of the other. And I will learn and grow and keep moving forward. I will feel what I need to feel. And I will heal at some point. And death and I will continue our journey together. Walking parallel roads...until one day they will cross again.
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