that steady tone
that signals the end
that soon will be upon us
that squiggly line now flat
that sadness now real
that sorrow heavy
that tsunami of emotions as he takes his last breath
The closeness of three generations, now becomes the grief of two generations.
His life was long, with some deception.
he and his red truck made such accomplishments
his gruff exterior melted the first time his then baby granddaughter needed comforting.
such a long past he had, and yet his death only took a week.
Day One:
He called and asked "I know you'll be here tomorrow, but can you come today?"
A request not heard in the past two years, we say "of course"
...
We arrive all seems normal, but then
but then,..
He tells us of the past,
of past sorrows,
of the past secrets,
and then he tells of present appreciation.
and then he tells of the pain
a pain so incredibly unbearable that a failed suicide caused the phone call.
and we listened, and we jotted down notes of things so important we did not want to lose them
and we convinced him, and took him to the hospital,
Day Two:
Without our knowledge they shove tubes down his throat into his lungs
and poke and prod
and test after test after test after test
many many things not right
and they find lumps in his lungs
and heart barely beating, his legs full of water,..
and I remember 4 weeks ago, he dug a 3foot by 3 foot by 3foot grave for one of his large dogs in Caliche-dirt of the desert, dirt that is hard, hard like concrete.
Day three:
We show the hospital his wishes on death
"no extra ordinary efforts"
"no tubes down throat"
and the lung specialist hears nothing and looks at the lungs
and the heart specialist hears nothing and looks at the heart
and the others look after other organs
they all want to keep their specialty-organ alive,
they so focused on their specialty
treat the organ and not the person
they do not talk to each other about the person
they see only one organ and not the person
not caring of his wishes
not caring that the person is loved
not feeling his readiness for peace they poke and prod.
Day Four:
He fully coherent, demands the tube be removed from his throat.
His great grandchildren visit him for a scant 40 minutes
His grandchildren visit and they talk for most of the day
Day Five:
Fully coherent but tired, I, the son-in-law,
talk with him about death
talk with him about regrets
talk with him about thankfulness
and then he flashes a grin,..
a smile,..
a smile of a 16 yr old boy about to tell his friends he touched a bare breast
and tells me,....
that the night nurse,.....
"is a real looker"
Day Six:
When he was coherent he would say, "why is there a white owl in that closet"
he would drop back to sleep
and when he would awaken again, he would ask us if we saw the white owl, and why is it in the closet of this hospital.
with no logical explanation for him, we said "yes we see it, and it is there to watch over and protect you"
The heart and lung monitor started to jump erratic
and he was a little scared
and wished for parts of the past to have never happened
Day Seven:
Morphine filled his veins, so he was calm and painless, perhaps for the first time in his life he had no pain, no sorrows, no fears.
in the room was his granddaughter, his daughter, and his son-in-law
and the nurse comes in to turn off the noise
that steady tone
that signals the end
that squiggly line now flat
that sadness now real
that sorrow so very heavy
that tsunami of emotions felt by the two generations as the last generation begins his final rest.
