A Day To Be Dying
/What A Day
Today is the day our loved one is dying? “No. Not today. No to death.”
At the cellular level of our bodies, of all organic matter, we are programmed to survive. Programmed to fight death with all we’ve got.
However.
A Final Performance Awaits
Each one of us has been issued a ticket to a last performance.
The very moment we are born, a death sentence is also handed out. It's as if a personal engraved invitation to the event is created, but we can't find the date and time on it.
No matter.
The date and time will find us.
Steve Jobs offered this quote:
“If you live each day as if it were your last,
someday you’ll most certainly be right.”
Facing Death At The Hospital
It's one thing to say these words and quite another to live them.
The hospital called when my father was admitted. I figured it was just another "tune-up" admission. He'll be admitted for a few days and then sent back home.
This time, however, the doctor insisted I should come. I asked if my father were dying. She skirted around those words and would only say that it was serious. "You should come."
I hastily booked a plane ticket.
Get Back, Death
As much as I tried to defy and force back the hovering clouds of Death waiting to lift our dad away from us, I had no personal power to alter the upcoming event.
My father's heart and kidneys were failing. He was, without question, in a dying process; no other options remained.
My failed attempts to battle and then to bargain with Death brought home the realization of just how small I really was.
Holding A Vigil
With my father in his hospital bed, the family came to visit. We talked.
We recounted stories about the "good old days" and our many adventures together. He was completely past-oriented. When I mentioned something I was going to do in the future, he scarcely heard me. He would pause with a far off look in his eye and immediately return to past events.
Although he didn't eat much, we ordered a few special food requests.
We were blessed to have him for one more week; many people were able to say goodbye.
In the time we still had, it was a good day.
Only Love Remains
My father remained entirely lucid to his last moments. He knew he was dying and accepted this fact with unbelievable equanimity. His calm ability to face the upcoming event took my breath away. His steadiness inspired awe in all who came to see him.
Fully aware his death was coming, he simply asked to not be “hurried along,” then he would add that he didn't want to be a burden either. I did everything in my power to honor his request to not rush the process.
In those last days, with heart-aching wonder, my dad spoke of love like he never had before; how important it is and how essential to tell others that you love them. He worried he had not said it enough.
"Don't worry," we told him, "we knew."
We always knew.
No Matter The Day
Each day I drove to the hospital to see him, I wondered if that very day would be *the* day of his last breath. I constantly reminded myself that this was a part of life even though it gave me little comfort.
Thus, it will be for all of us. I wonder if I'll manage to be even half as brave as my father when that final, dying moment comes.
But, no matter. When that moment comes, it will be my day. When that moment comes for you, it will be your day. All our days will be held in one final breath.
* * * * *
My dad's favorite dog, German Shorthaired Pointer
The Dying Lion of Lucerne, Switzerland
