Trying to be...
2004-06-13 - 9:32 a.m.
Dear Papa,
I can't believe its a year. Last year, at exactly this time on exactly this day, I was on a train to see you. I knew it was going to be the last time I ever saw you....
I remember the day in such painstaking detail. I remember the seat on the train, where I composed my goodbye letter to you. I remember D picking me up at the train station, and the conversation we had on the way to the hospital. I remember walking into your room, and gasping at the drastic decline in the week since I had seen you.
You were in the bed, gaunt and withered. The tubes were helping you breathe, but we could still hear your struggle. You looked so tiny, so fraile. I remember Nana's face, not looking at you, and talking about you only in the third person. Across the room was as close as she could get, and can I blame her, knowing that her 69 3/4 years with you was coming to an end?
I kissed your forehead, which was on fire. I talked to you, and your eyelids fluttered. I started telling stories about you, and then Mom and Dad and D joined in...I felt we owed it to you to be sharing these moments together, in your presence.
I read you the letter I had written on the train, and its the first time I remember seeing Dad cry.
I remember meeting with the woman from Hospice as Dad brought Nana home. Everyone was hemming and hawwing about your morphine levels, and the hospice lady said that giving you more would make you die more quickly. She asked if we thought you were in pain and needed more....no one wanted to answer, no one wanted to be the decision maker.
I couldn't stand to watch your struggle. I could tell you wanted to go, and that you were in pain. I said that I thought you needed more. After I said it, Mom agreed. Dad returned just then and after being filled in agreed as well. D just stood there, unable to answer, but then, she's always been your meekest granddaughter.
So there, the decision was made. We returned to your room and Mom and Dad filled out the paperwork. I held your hand, and talked to you. Told you we would always take care of Nana. Told you it was ok to go, that we were ready.
Ginger gave you the morphine dose. Everyone else was busy looking or talking elsewhere, but I stayed focused on you. On your breathing.
And I watched you take your last peaceful breath. Alone in that moment, just me and you.
I miss you. Every day, I think of you and what a great man you were. I hear your voice, and I see your face.
You have a new great-grandson now. He's named for you. We hope that he will grow up to be as caring, selfless and loving as you were. He has quite big shoes to fill.
Love,
me
