I’ve spent the last few days waiting for my Dad to die.
He’s in hospital and myself, my Mom and my sister are being gently supported through this grim process by amazing nurses and doctors.
Except for one nurse who told us, completely seriously at the beginning of this week, she “guessed she saved him” after checking his oxygen.
In light of the fact my Dad was unconscious and still dying, we felt this was an overstatement.
Though an unintentionally very funny overstatement.
My Dad, as mentioned here previously, has Dementia.
It is, like most, a cruel disease.
Ironically, past the initial horror of discovering he had Dementia, it has been least cruel to my Dad.
It has been infinitely crueler to myself and my sister.
And an infinitely times a million crueler still to my Mom who cared for him.
So much cruelty and now one last gruelling march.
It’s been brutal.
I’ve kept myself from drowning in memories by keeping in mind his last few months.
He was alive but in a zombie-like state.
Unaware of where he was or what he was doing.
Unable to participate in the reality around him.
My Mom, me and my sister wanting so desperately to share our lives with him but being denied by his inability to comprehend it.
It is a cruel disease.
But that is not my focus for writing this.
Here’s what is…
We have a digital frame in our kitchen.
This morning, as I came down early in the dark for coffee to try to stay ahead of the impending news of my Dad dying (like that will somehow soften the blow), I watched as the photos of myself, Shannon and our sons went past.
I caught myself unconsciously giving a celebratory clenched fist to each ridiculous happy memory like I had deprived death of one more jewel for its grotesque crown.
That last line was some lofty fucking prose.
Apologies.
My point is… the cliche is right.
Life is for living.
Every single time you get to choose to live, you get to kick death squarely in the nuts.
So, kick hard.
I have many ridiculous memories of wonderful times with my Dad.
I own those.
Death does not.
Do that fun thing.
Go to that place.
Spend that time.
You will not regret it.
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Oh Stewart, I’m so sorry you’re going through this! Please hug your mom for me. Once the dread of getting “the call” - which you never are prepared for - was over I was able to properly celebrate all the great memories of being with my parents. You’re in my prayers
We had a super spooky last moment with Mom I would like to share; I was playing piano music youtubes on my phone (she won piano competitions, doncha know!) and her ABSOLUTE FAVOURITE (Liszt Hungarian Rhapsodies) came on randomly - we were all dumb-struck! The sound of her playing Liszt, the slightly out-of-tune piano ringing through the house was immediately returned to us. And, in the tragic comedy of that very moment, her life was over and it was so beautiful and unlikely and her last moment was EXACTLY WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT, friend. 👻