Birthdays

Dad’s birthday was two weeks after my birthday which was my dad’s last night on this earth. Our last night together was my birthday and his last night.

He had very few words and few wakeful moments. But we shared some kisses. I kissed his head and cheeks. He kissed my cheek. He nodded that he was thirsty and I gave him water. He coughed a lot, couldn’t quite get the phlegm out of his throat. I did become afraid he would cough himself to death on my watch.

He kept trying to clear the phlegm out in the morning and was mostly out of it, keeping his eyes closed. I had Golf News on TV from ESPN newscast following the golf tournament from yesterday. It was a calming thing for him, or it was my attempt at a calming voice in the room for both of us.

The night before, in the dark, I had many conversations with him. I was trying to tell him that it was okay to go to go to the green fairway, that I would see him really soon in his time in heaven since time is abstract in heaven. I told him that his buddies were waiting for him and I did a lot of reiki on him and on me. He never answered or acknowledged what I said that night. Previously in the week, I had thanked him for all of his hard work taking care of his family, his patients, his town. His response had been to clap his hands.  I took that as a sign that he was able to be proud of himself and his accomplishments.

The end wasn’t pretty, but some minutes later, I saw him escape his body and walk in the tall, green, knee length grass towards his favorite dog, Gus who was galloping in all his golden spaniel splendor towards Dad. It was so clear, this vision, shortly after he passed when I had some time alone. In my mind’s eye, I saw him in his old yard work khakis wearing his denim cotton button up shirt and his comfortable loafers, just walking casually, arms swinging in the tall grass towards his yellow floppy dog. I watched as he scooped up his beloved dog, hugging him close, burying his face in the dog’s fur.  Both were overjoyed to be together.

The best thing about my Dad’s death is that I have no regrets. I spent time with him. My kids and Jim did too. And I made sure he had a service with speakers, good friends, and a minister who knew as much as possible about my Dad.

My son Dillon spent five days with him in April, and they shared talks and time and sat together. Dad told Dillon his terribly  off-color joke, bonding with him and sharing laughs together. Dillon pushed his wheelchair and helped him in the bathroom. Ella visited in May and hugged him and kissed him. Both of my kids talked to him and thanked him for his time with him. Jim also helped him out and visited with him in April during his visit. We spent two weeks in Wisconsin with them during his last summer while covid was ramping  up. One week was for his birthday with Ella,  and one week in September, just Jim and me. I’m so glad I took the time and that I had the time to spend with him.

Survival Tips:

1. Find meaningful time together. Whatever that means to you both. Dillon listened to off color jokes with him and sat with him, helped to organize dinner with friends. Ella helped more with chores. She hauled, carried, packed cars with goodwill items. She embodied love, empathy and care. I hugged my dad whenever possible. And I kissed his head and cheeks when he was in bed or in his chair. He loved physical affection. I tried to be gentle and use a quiet voice around him.
2. Help with personal grooming as much as is comfortable.  I loved helping Dad brush his teeth later.  I would load the toothbrush up for him, set up his Waterpik, find his favorite comb, rub lotion on his poor ravaged bald head, his bruised arms, and massage his hands with more lotion. He didn’t have the strength to do much but smiled. His grooming was important for him and the nurses and Mom weren’t doing it, so I just stepped in. He sat on a short stool in front of the mirror while I helped him get ready for bed, or get up for the day.
3. Look for them after they pass. Ask “How are you doing Dad?” “What are you up to?” On my Dad’s birthday two weeks after he passed, had a very clear vision of him. I saw him sitting in a fishing boat. An old wooden fishing boat with old, very old men. I can still see it. Four or five old men and my Dad in a boat together on a lake in the woods. They are wearing old hats, long sleeves, long pants, frumpy old clothes. There’s no chatter just lines in the water, poles in the air, and they’re sharing space and time. Today is his birthday. This is what he would most like to be doing. Maybe the men are all from my Dad’s youth. Maybe they’re showing him the ropes up in heaven. I don’t know but I can see him there in my mind’s eye, “Enjoying the heck out of it” as he would say. Just quiet time. Nobody needs to talk. Only a few words every now and then sharing time together. Look in your mind’s eye and ask what they are up to…