I
n the last week of June, my brother told me of his plans to move my father out of New York and into his house in Georgia. This came as a surprise because my father’s last attempt to live in the south lasted only a few months. He had complained how the people were backward and that there was no place like New York. I didn’t realize that this time, southern life would be a death sentence for him.
Within a few weeks, he went into hospice and moved to a local facility. I had heard of hospice before but this was my first experience with it. The place looked like any ordinary nursing home. I entered the room an hour before sunset and saw my father lying in a bed by the window. I immediately noticed how much weight he had lost. His weak, thin body, once strong and forceful was depleted. He looked older and in his face, I saw surrender. The sheet fell from his leg, exposing the diaper he was wearing.
“Dad, are you awake?” I whispered and kissed him on the check.
His eyes opened wide. He looked surprised to see me. “When did you come to New York?”
“We’re in Georgia, Dad. Don’t you remember? Joey drove you here so you wouldn't be alone.”
“Oh yeah, I remember now.”
“Look what I brought for you,” I said, holding up a frosty tub and a spoon.
“Oh boy! Ice cream!” he said like a small child. We laughed as our father dug into the container. Most of it spilled onto his pajamas and sheet, but he smiled from ear to ear.
“What happened, Dad?” I asked.
“I was feeling better one day and decided to drive to the supermarket. Everything was great. I parked my car and steadied myself on a cart to get inside then used the motorized shopping scooter to get around. I moved slowly though the isles, looking for my favorite foods. I had to ask for help with the items that were up too high. They’re so good at that supermarket. The lady at the checkout counter asked the bagger to help me get to my car. I slipped into the driver’s seat and the boy returned the scooter to the front of the store. Before I turned the key, I waited for a dizzy spell to subside then I put the car in reverse. I didn’t judge right and backed into another car. I was so scared. I stepped on the gas and drove off.
By the time I got home, I thought, what if someone saw me. What if they took my license plate number? I started to panic and grabbed my oxygen tank to catch my breath, but it wasn’t helping. I didn’t know what to do so I called 911! Within minutes, an ambulance pulled up into the trailer park, and drove me to the emergency room. I didn’t think I’d be there for more than a few hours, but after the nurse checked my vital signs, she said I was being admitted. I didn’t want to stay and told her that I felt better. She said I had no choice and that a room would have to take it up with the doctor. I called Joey and he came to get me. I guess this is it. I’m going to die soon.”
All my life, my father talked about dying, but somehow, this time it was different.
“Don’t’ talk like that, Dad.”
“It’s all right. I’m ready.”
“The nurses say you have to stay in hospice, Dad. Just until they regulate your medicine. Are you in pain?”
“No! I just can’t breathe and I’m very tired.”
I turned to my brother. “Why hospice?”
“He was waking up in the middle of the night confused and disorientated, crying out. I didn’t know what else to do.”
As the nurses came in and out of his room, my father turned on the charm and flirted. They seemed to like him. My brother and I laughed about it told him he was dying yet.”
They brought him his tray at lunchtime and my father looked at it with disgust.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” my brother said. “I’ll bring you some real food later.”
“It’s getting late,” I said. “I have to go to Florida for a few days, but I’ll see you when I get back. I took my father’s hand and squeezed it. “I love you, Dad.”
He returned the squeeze and said, “I love you, too, baby!”
It seemed strange to hear him call me baby, but also soothing. I kissed him goodbye and walked towards the door with my brother behind me, then turned to look at him one more time, but before I could get that last look, my brother whispered, “Don’t look back.”
Those words still have great significance for me.
I drove home feeling numb to the whole circumstance. I had to get ready to leave for Florida the next morning and there was so much to do. As I pulled up my driveway, I couldn’t remember if I told my father that I loved him.
I called my brother. “Joey, I need to talk to Dad,” I urgently spoke into the phone.
“He’s eating pizza right now.”
“But I need to talk to him.”
“All right. I’m going to put the phone up to his ear.”
“Hello, Dad?”
“Hi baby. Joey brought me pizza.” he laughed.
“That’s great. Dad I love you.” I cried. I want you to know that and I don’t remember if I told you.”
“Don’t cry. I know you love me and I love you. You don’t have to worry. Joey is taking good care of me.”
“Okay, Dad.” I felt relieved, but couldn’t shake the feeling of finality.
As I drove to Florida, the sky opened up with torrential rain. I couldn’t stop thinking about my father and wondered how he was doing.
Two hours after crossing the Florida-Georgia line, my cell phone rang. I could hear the tension in my brother’s voice.
“What’s wrong, Joey?”
“Dad fell.”
“What? Is he all right?”
“No, no! He isn’t good.
“How did he fall?”
“They don’t know. He was in his chair. The nurse found him on the floor. When I came in, his eyes were closed and his hands were busy as if he was building something. I think he was dreaming. He has a lump on his head. They gave him something for pain. I’m waiting for the doctor.”
The rain fell harder, making it difficult to see through the windshield. I gripped the steering wheel with one hand and tried to stay on the road. I knew this day would come, but I didn’t expect it so soon.
“Call me later,” I pleaded, and focused on the road as I drove through the rainstorm.
Seven hours into the trip, the phone call from my brother came. He started to speak but his voice broke and the tears came. “They’re starting the morphine,” he cried. “I’m staying here tonight. I can’t leave him.”
I recalled my father’s fear of suffocating. Please, God, I thought. Take him quick. Don’t let him suffer.
That night, I tossed and turned. In the morning, I called my father’s room. A sleepy voice answered. It took a moment to recognize my brother’s voice.
“I’ve been here all night,” he said.
“Joey, please. Go home and get some rest.”
“No. It’s hard to see him deteriorating before of my eyes, but I can’t leave. His arms are flailing. They have to give him the morphine anally. His eyes open when the nurse gives it to him. I can’t take it,” he cried.
“Is he eating?”
“No. He hasn’t eaten anything in twenty-four hours. I want to keep him hydrated, but they say it won’t help.”
“Do you think he is aware of his surroundings?”
“Yes, sometimes I see his eyes flicker and he moans. I have his hand and I am talking to him. I called for the priest to give him his last rites.
The nurses come in every four hours to administer more medicine. I wish this would end soon, but the nurse says that some people live up to thirty days without food or water. This morning I kissed his forehead,” Joey sobbed. “I could taste the morphine. I had to run into the bathroom for a washcloth. I scrubbed his face, but I could still smell it.”
“Are you there alone?”
“Yes, I… I have to ring for the nurse,” Joey yelled and the phone went dead.
I called every five minutes, but couldn’t get through. Finally, my brother picked up the phone.
“Dad couldn’t breathe. I begged them to help him. His nurse came in and said she might be able to suction his lungs to make him more comfortable, but she said it’s only temporary.
“You have to let him go,” I begged. “Tell him not to be scared. Tell him his mother is waiting for him on the other side.”
“His breathing is shallow, but he’s breathing a little easier now. He looks peaceful. Dad it’s all right. You can leave now,” he said. “Put down the hammer. Your job is done.”
My father opened his eyes and took one last deep breath.
“He’s gone,” Joey sobbed. “I’m going to open the window so his spirit can soar,” he said.
I could hear the window slide and tears welled in my eyes.
“Rest in Peace, Dad.”