Trying to be...
2003-06-13 - 8:32 a.m.
When you submit two entries on the same day (as I have just done), how come when you date it differently (as I have also done) it doesn't save them chronologically...that is a curious thing. This entry is being submitted retroactively....
I wrote this note on June 13th on the train, while rushing home to see my grandfather once more before he died. He lived a wonderful 97 1/2 years, and was one of the most kind, gentle and loving person this planet has seen. Since his death, a reoccuring theme has evolved from those sending their condolences....everyone comments on the fact that he always cared, and always listened. From family members to casual acquantances, they all said "when he asked you a question, you could always tell that he was really listening to the answer, and really cared about what you were saying".
I only hope such wonderful things are said about me, both while I am still around and after I am gone.
----------------------------------
Dear papa,
i am so sad to see you go, but i know that you are ready. You have lived a full and happy life, and i am so grateful to have had you in my life for so long. Your optimism and general outlook on life has always impressed me, and i feel that so much of who i am today is a result of who you have always been.
People always tell me that i am forever searching and finding the proverbial silver lining. I know that is something i inherited directly from you. Even as i write this, i can clearly hear your voice saying "that's right" while you nod and smile. I also seemed to have inherited your fascination with grocery prices, and on stocking up on sales items-much to my husband's chagrin.
Last night I looked at the pictures from your birthday. The last time we were all together. What a beautiful afternoon, and we all look so happy. I can see & hear you, going around the table- celebrating each member of the family in order of their joining. Another clear example of how much family means to you, and that importance has been passed down to us.
And how hard this past week has been for all of us, especially you. For you to not know your family is already having said goodbye. The funeral you were so desperately trying to identify was your own, as we all, including you, began to mourn your loss.
I will miss you. We will all miss you. But after seeing you last week, we all know that its best for you this way. After all you've given us, this is what you deserve to get in return... permission to pass gently with the continued love and support of your family
------------------------------------
I read this to him, shortly after arriving at the hospital. In exactly one week's time, he went from independently dressing himself and reading the newspaper, to going completely delerious and incoherent, unable to eat or swallow, and finally, needing assistance breathing. He was dehydrated, malnutritioned, and had double pneumonia. The family decided to withhold treatment, according to his wishes expressed in healthier days.
We knew he was dying today, and I could not let him go without saying goodbye. I also knew that being the person that he was, he would not let go until he had permission from his family, and until he was assured we would care for my grandmother, who was always foremost in his thoughts.
I read this to him with my mother, father, sister and grandmother present. We were all beside ourselves with tears.
It was the first time that I saw my father spontaneously show such emotion, crying and walking over to me to hold my hand while I continued to fight through the tears. Afterwards, he thanked me.
My grandmother wouldn't talk to my grandfather. Kept saying "he doesn't know we are here". I let her handle her grief and goodbyes her own way, but I knew differently. I saw the way his eyes, still closed, flickered when he heard familiar voices. He didn't do it when the nurses were there, but when Deb or I spoke, they flickered.
I spoke clearly and loudly to him. I told him it was ok to go. I told him I loved him. I told him we would all take care of Nana.
My father couldn't speak to him. Neither could Deb. My mother, who is a long-time health professional, and I, a trained bereavement social worker, led the brigade and showed them they didn't have to be afraid.
Those 3 hours were a lifetime.
My father brought my grandmother home, then returned to the hospital. We met with the Hospice nurse, and told her we thought he was in too much pain. I sat next to him, holding his hand, telling him Nana went home, and it was ok for him to go. The nurse gave him more morphine.
Then, as we all sat in silence, tears streaming down our face...I saw it. He took a breath, and got a beautiful, peaceful look on his face. No one else saw it. 10 seconds lasted a lifetime, and I turned to the nurse and said "was that what I think it was" and everyone turned to Papa.
he was gone, and peaceful.
The pacemaker continued, and the nurse told everyone if they wanted to, to tell him what they needed to. We said our goodbyes, and hugged each other....
it was tragic, yet it was beautiful.
He lived a wonderful life, and had a gentle passing surrounded by people who loved him and whom he loved. Could a person ask for more than that?
