Into the Mystic pt2

     The next morning I found him as I had left him the night before, unconscious and laboring. His pain medication had been upgraded two days before, because he had begun to resist the aides while moving him from his chair to the bed every evening. Though he was apparently comfortable sitting in his chair throughout the day, the evening transition to his bed seemed to hurt him terribly. And though he made the same trip to his bed every day for his afternoon nap, the evening move had become a dreaded task for both of us. Maybe something had happened that caused him to resist, I don’t know, but he began to fight it as though they were going to throw him into a pool of acid. Was dementia now setting in or had he been hurt on some previous occasion more than I had realized. Whatever it was, his fear and resistance was growing with each passing day and had now become so physical that he and I, along with an aide or two were finding ourselves going to the floor.

     Although I was with him every day without exception, I made a particular point of being there during the evening move to his bed, hoping my presence and support would make things easier for him and the staff. Everything would be okay right up until the time he went to bed and then the struggle would begin with getting him up from his chair. I know he suffered a lot of pain having to stand while being readied for the night, but it was even more trying for him to add on the few baby steps to the bed, and by the time he was halfway to the mattress the real fight would begin with him verbally and physically resisting. Although I couldn’t understand his mindset, as to why he would turn on them in a manner not consistent with his personality or his history, it also seemed completely unnatural for me to stand by without defending him with any and all means available. Having been his protector for the last many months, I wondered then as I wonder now if he believed I had turned against him, a thought that periodically comes back to haunt me. Eventually I couldn’t help but feel like a traitor in my simple efforts to get him to cooperate. So that last night he was still consciously in this world, I retreated to the parking lot and began searching for an answer - looking for solace, among the glittering stars that were splashed across that black October night. I never told most of my siblings just how bad it had become and those I did mention it to didn’t receive all the unsavory details, because what good would it do to leave these sad memories with them. I just tucked it all away deep inside myself, and that’s where it resides today.

     I sat with him for a while that last morning, just watching and listening to him draw in life’s air and then exhale as though releasing a great weight. It was then that I realized that there would be no more conversations, no more cracking a joke or forcing a smile. Though he had made so many truly remarkable comebacks, I was well aware that the heavy load of narcotics would probably prevent another awakening. Still, I had come to know his great strength and his incredible lust for life, so I went off to have lunch and run a couple of errands, thinking there was yet several more days ahead to continue the silent vigil. I think I was gone for about an hour and a half and was on my way to another errand when I was cut short by a phone call from hospice.

     I had been expecting the call, as I had requested a conference about his heavy load of pain medication, so when they asked if I could return to the nursing home, I thought nothing of it and immediately hurried back.  Less than ten minutes later, I walked in his room to find two women standing near his bed where he lay. I returned their smile before a double-take at the scene before me, because something was different and it didn’t take but a moment for me to realize my father was gone. Almost immediately the women excused themselves to allow me some time with him alone, but before leaving they asked if I wanted them to notify the one sister who was in town. I declined, thinking it would be better for her to hear it from me, but before setting off to tell her our father had passed, I pulled up a chair beside him and had my last conversation with him, face to face. I don’t recall exactly what I said, but there’s no need to evoke those words here. The point is that he was gone into the mystic, and I had not only lost my father but I had lost my best friend.