In These Final Hours

I have felt a presence these last few hours so strongly I have glanced around rooms…
A mere whisper of movement, a tiny breeze that touches my skin to leave a shiver in its wake…
So strongly I have felt it, I called out your name softly so as not to disturb… either of you.

I watch him sleeping and marvel at the sense of peace I feel wash over me…
At the peace I see erasing the lines time and life have chiseled into his face…
I feel comforted to know that you await him with open arms… anxious to be by his side once again.

Like you, I have loved him… and cared for him… I have devoted this part of my life to him…
My arms feel empty at the thought of him preparing to take wing and fly away from me…
My heart overflows as I feel you hovering nearby, eager to begin your next chapter… with him.

I bow my head and pray knowing that the time to depart his life here on earth draws ever nearer…
I am honored to be here with him, with them, privileged to have had them call me daughter…
I am humbled by the love they still share and blessed to have borne witness to its enduring power…

There will be dancing on the clouds of Heaven soon, while a host of angels sing and rejoice…
Before long this precious father-in-law of mine and his beloved bride will finally be reunited…
Never again to be separated by… time… space… life… or death… together for all eternity…
together they will forever soar free.

It's Sunday and Time Is Marching On...

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Around 3:45 this morning, I called hospice. Dad could no longer swallow and was choking. I knew it was time, but I needed them to tell me it was. The nurse assured me it was time to start administering atropine drops to reduce secretions and a combination of Roxanol and Xanax to keep him pain-free. Because he was in distress, I gave him the prescribed dosage. He settled into a deep and peaceful sleep. For now, he seems to only need the meds every 4-6 hours.

The grandchildren and great-grandchildren that live locally were here most of the day. The children don’t hesitate to run in and out of his bedroom. Little Tyler is only 4 years old and he goes and “checks on” his Pop every 10 minutes or so. I cannot help the smile that crosses my face every time I hear that little voice shout, “Hi, Pop!” when he enters the room. The dog periodically jumps up on the bed and slinks forward to lick Dad’s face. His only living daughter spent a great deal of the afternoon by his side. As these things occur, I am reminded that we are a family and this is life.

It reminds me of all the reasons I had my youngest daughter at home, rather than a hospital. There I was at peace, surrounded by those closest to me. Here he is at peace, surrounded by those closest to him. There a life was welcomed in a virtually pain-free environment. Here a life is waiting to enter the Kingdom of Heaven in a completely pain-free environment.

This is a celebration of life tinged with a hint of great sadness. To lose one you love is always heart-wrenchingly sad. But, there is great joy at the thought of him finally freed from the Alzheimer’s that was slowly destroying him. There is great joy at the thought of him finally being reunited with his beloved bride of nearly 70 years.

Without a shadow of a doubt, it’s going to be another very long night and I’m betting it’s going to end up being just me and him. Together, waiting, as time marches on…