You might wonder where I have been for the past four months.
Why no blog entries?
You could say I have been wandering. I LOVE that phrase, can't remember who spoke it first."All who wander are not lost." I am not by nature a wanderer. I am a goal-orientated, give me a mission-and-I'm-on-it type. So to wander, I have to have my goal be "to wander."
Or I could be so indescribably tired, not sleepy tired, but the tired like my mitochondria (the energy furnaces of each cell) are only functioning at half their potential.
Plus Dad. Helping him to heal. To climb back up the ladder to functioning. He's been in skilled nursing at the WP Towers, but he wants so badly to move upstairs to his apartment, or at least to Assisted Living. This takes a lot of energy.
Dad died yesterday. So now I have time. I knew I would have time, so I wasn't rushing. Now I have time.
Dad told me two months ago he was ready to "march on out", that he had lived a good life, done all he wanted. That he was finished with doctors, hospitals, needles. Then a few weeks later, sitting in the garden at the Towers, he in a wheelchair because he just wasn't going to be walking again, he said he was "ready to dance off the stage." This time I understood. And was silent, which is pretty rare for me.
Dad has been in and out of the hospital six times in five months. Three surgeries. This last hospitalization, they said there was nothing to do. No one part was the problem, everything was just giving out. Atrial fib hourly, kidneys starting to fail, bacterial infections. Just not a happy body. Dad sleeping 99% of the time. Let's keep him comfortable, peaceful, out of emergency rooms.
So we called in Hospice Friday, a week ago. Best move ever. Took him off most of his 17 pills daily. Dad was talking, mainly repeating phrases he just heard, but he could think. Smiles and nods, enjoyed his food and music. I had gotten into the habit of sitting with Dad each morning, my cup of coffee and his cranberry juice, read the entire newspaper out loud. Why not? Then late afternoon visits, leaving at dinner.
Beethoven. Always Beethoven. The last ER visit, I asked the nurse what she wanted me to play on my IPAD, she said Handel. I put it on, when she left Dad told me to change it, not worth even hearing the finish of the piece. What kind of person would like Handel, he said.
Monday was the last food Dad ate. Pureed. And he spoke three sentences. After sitting with him sleeping for say two hours, he roused.
"Sara, what do you want from me?" I told him I wanted him to listen to his body. We all are doing that, just let it do what it wants to do. That I love him and he's a great Dad. This is his lead.
"Where am I going?" We are both going to heaven I know that for sure. When we will all get there, well that Is not my decision.
"Will I be alone in the house?" No, never alone. I will be here, or if I leave, nurses or someone from Hospice will be sitting here or in the hall. Then he closed his eyes, not another word Monday.
Tuesday, silence except for one sentence. His last words. He was silent, I was next to him. I saw his eyes moving back and forth behind his closed eyelids. I touched his arm, asked him what was he thinking? After a full minute he said, slowly and clearly, "I'm thinking it's been wonderful." That was all. The last words he ever spoke. By Tuesday afternoon he was so restless unconsciously, and had difficulty breathing, so they alternated morphine and ativan. He died Saturday night.
I'm currently in Rome, with my family. Sunday we all said a prayer for Dad, in San Giovanni di Laterna Basilica, not knowing his status yet. I think Dad liked that.
Goodbye Dad.
When you got the chance, you danced....
Why no blog entries?
You could say I have been wandering. I LOVE that phrase, can't remember who spoke it first."All who wander are not lost." I am not by nature a wanderer. I am a goal-orientated, give me a mission-and-I'm-on-it type. So to wander, I have to have my goal be "to wander."
Or I could be so indescribably tired, not sleepy tired, but the tired like my mitochondria (the energy furnaces of each cell) are only functioning at half their potential.
Plus Dad. Helping him to heal. To climb back up the ladder to functioning. He's been in skilled nursing at the WP Towers, but he wants so badly to move upstairs to his apartment, or at least to Assisted Living. This takes a lot of energy.
Dad died yesterday. So now I have time. I knew I would have time, so I wasn't rushing. Now I have time.
Dad told me two months ago he was ready to "march on out", that he had lived a good life, done all he wanted. That he was finished with doctors, hospitals, needles. Then a few weeks later, sitting in the garden at the Towers, he in a wheelchair because he just wasn't going to be walking again, he said he was "ready to dance off the stage." This time I understood. And was silent, which is pretty rare for me.
Dad has been in and out of the hospital six times in five months. Three surgeries. This last hospitalization, they said there was nothing to do. No one part was the problem, everything was just giving out. Atrial fib hourly, kidneys starting to fail, bacterial infections. Just not a happy body. Dad sleeping 99% of the time. Let's keep him comfortable, peaceful, out of emergency rooms.
So we called in Hospice Friday, a week ago. Best move ever. Took him off most of his 17 pills daily. Dad was talking, mainly repeating phrases he just heard, but he could think. Smiles and nods, enjoyed his food and music. I had gotten into the habit of sitting with Dad each morning, my cup of coffee and his cranberry juice, read the entire newspaper out loud. Why not? Then late afternoon visits, leaving at dinner.
Beethoven. Always Beethoven. The last ER visit, I asked the nurse what she wanted me to play on my IPAD, she said Handel. I put it on, when she left Dad told me to change it, not worth even hearing the finish of the piece. What kind of person would like Handel, he said.
Monday was the last food Dad ate. Pureed. And he spoke three sentences. After sitting with him sleeping for say two hours, he roused.
"Sara, what do you want from me?" I told him I wanted him to listen to his body. We all are doing that, just let it do what it wants to do. That I love him and he's a great Dad. This is his lead.
"Where am I going?" We are both going to heaven I know that for sure. When we will all get there, well that Is not my decision.
"Will I be alone in the house?" No, never alone. I will be here, or if I leave, nurses or someone from Hospice will be sitting here or in the hall. Then he closed his eyes, not another word Monday.
Tuesday, silence except for one sentence. His last words. He was silent, I was next to him. I saw his eyes moving back and forth behind his closed eyelids. I touched his arm, asked him what was he thinking? After a full minute he said, slowly and clearly, "I'm thinking it's been wonderful." That was all. The last words he ever spoke. By Tuesday afternoon he was so restless unconsciously, and had difficulty breathing, so they alternated morphine and ativan. He died Saturday night.
I'm currently in Rome, with my family. Sunday we all said a prayer for Dad, in San Giovanni di Laterna Basilica, not knowing his status yet. I think Dad liked that.
Goodbye Dad.
When you got the chance, you danced....
No comments:
Post a Comment