No Guarantees

I had just woken up, thirsty, in search of water, when the phone rang at 220 am.  My father had taken a turn for a worse, and most likely wouldn't last until morning, but there were "no guarantees."  I paused at the strange comment, but realized there was truth to the phrase.  In the dark of the night my mother and I dressed quickly and drove to the hospital spotting deer in the fields near the road.   On the way out I grabbed my father's favorite cowboy hat and placed it next to him when we arrived.  His breathing was belabored.  Twenty five seconds between breaths.  My cousins and aunt met us there, and the five of us settled in, watching the clock tick towards daylight.  We took turns holding his hand, assuring him of our love.  "Get into your dream car and go on one last, glorious drive to the finish line."  Our presence had calmed him down, and halted his rapid decline.  Recent conversations with friends who had lost loved ones made me aware that sometimes people prefer to die alone.  I wanted my father to have all options, so at 9am I recommended we take a breakfast break downstairs.  We took another one at 2pm, leaving the hospital grounds in the rain, under a thunderous sky.  Both times there was no significant change when we returned.

Yep, no guarantees.  And truthfully we were in no hurry.  This may be the most brilliant stage of life, to be caught between two worlds.  Feeling the love from the earthbound world while being drawn towards a different type of power.  To finally understanding the complete picture, to see how the puzzle pieces fit together. The nurses asked if there was any unfinished business, if there were people he was waiting to see.  I reassured my father that if he had uncompleted taks he could trust we would take care of them, and if he was waiting for my siblings they would be arriving the next day.  Thirty five seconds between breaths, a minimal change.  The hours passed.  I napped in the empty hospital bed next to my father (the most comfortable mattress I ever encountered) , meditated, made pre-arrangements at the funeral home, danced to Sinatra and Etta James, and started to write his obituary.  Around 6pm my cousin returned to the room, teary, after a conversation with her son in LA.  At the mention of his name, my aunt noticed my father's eyes opened and he moved his head, a herculean task.  Chris, an extremely important person in my father's life, was the one person who had not yet made it to his bedside.  Ah, the obvious missing piece. My father jolted to life at the sound of Chris' voice booming through the iphone, telling him how much he loved him and the influence he had on his life.  "Uncle Mike, I'm an artist because of you.  You taught me how to hold a paint brush." With intense effort my father kept his eye lids at half mast and moved his mouth.  Words were silent, but I have no doubt he was saying "I love you."  My father's decline was rapid after the phone call.  Sixty seconds between breaths.

I took my father's hand and guided him to the shore line.  "Let's go swimming.  I have your hand, you'll always be safe."  We rode the waves, swimming further and further out to sea until he could see the many outstretched arms waiting for him.  "I'm going to let go, so you can join your loved ones on the other side.  I'm going to swim back to the shore, but you get to stay."  As the sun began to set, the rain finally stopped, and the gray sky brightened.  Light streamed into a corner of the hospital room, illuminating my father's watercolor which we had brought to brighten his room. At 935pm when he took his last breath, we were surrounding his bed, caressing his hand, and loving him.  The profundity of this moment will be with me forever.  Like witnessing a marriage or a birth, it was a privilege to be by my father's side during this significant event.  When I visited in late June to be with my parents for his first oncology appointment, I sensed my role, perhaps an unspoken pact we made as souls. Through out the weeks I dismissed it as hokey, but the events unfolded as I imagined.  My love for my father has been deepened by this experience, he trusted me with the most significant passage of his life.  I'm so grateful for the last weeks we had together, the simple truths we exchanged, and the joy we experienced by just being together.