I received a call from my father who was in medical distress in San Carlos, Mexico. When I realized that this was likely the last time I would have the opportunity to see my dad, we made the 36-hour drive to Tucson. Dad had arrived at your emergency room about 10 hours prior to my arrival and was in a room when I arrived.
Dad was moved to a number of different units over the next three weeks as his condition deteriorated, so I became familiar with a number of the fantastic staff there. From the gentlemen working the Starbucks counter to the porter who brought my son those neat little crustless PB&J sandwiches and graham crackers. I appreciate those gestures now as much as I did then. For so many of the nurses and doctors to not only field my plethora of questions, but to be as gentle as they were with my son who was constantly underfoot and watching his Grandfather deteriorate by the day, was something I am exceptionally grateful for.
We landed in the ICU at the end of the month where Dad was sedated and eventually put into a coma in the hopes that the rest would allow his body to combat the Pneumonia, which we later learned was a symptom of his Adenocarcinoma (which was not diagnosed until after he passed). I had to leave for a few days, and unfortunately, I was unable to get a flight back to Tucson for three more days.
The decision was made to remove Dad from the coma and allow him to wake up as it was not serving to benefit him at all. Within a few hours, I noticed one eye open, but no other change. I started swabbing his mouth and he would run his tongue over the sponge and suck on it. It was explained to me that at some point he must have suffered a stroke, this is as much of him as I would be getting back. For the next day and I half, I stayed with him, and to my surprise, he was able to react to things when I put his hearing aids in. I could ask him to blink once or twice or three times and he would respond accordingly. After every question I would repeat "once for 'no', twice for 'yes', three times for 'don't understand'.
I explained to him who I was and what had happened. He responded quickly and appropriately when I asked him questions that I knew the answer to. He was surprised by how long he was under. I asked him if he remembered his last talk with my son before he went under. In all honesty, in the moment apart of me wanted to think that he was just responding by reflex that he wasn't really there anymore. The biggest part of me wanted that. It would have been so much easier if that was the case, but it wasn't. It was the middle of the night when I realized that I had dozed off holding his hand, I looked up and both eyes were open now and he was just looking at me. Not staring, just looking. Like I look at my son sleeping in his bed after I've had a long hard day.
I asked him "Are you ready?" *2 blinks* I remember so clearly.
"Dad, if I turn off the machines, you will die. There will be no more waking up. No more me, no more (my brother), no more (my son). No more being sick. No more days. Nothing. Do you want to die, to end all of this?" *2 blinks*
"I need more, if you want this and you are sure, I need 10 blinks."
He just looked at me as I was waiting for his response. Then he did it. 10. I fell apart. He knows exactly what is next. It's his choice.
"I know it's selfish for me to ask, but can I please keep you for one more day?" *2*
The nurses on shift for dads last night were Carolyne Fiederlein and Jennifer Scott. Carolyne talked to him as she shaved his face and head and told him all sorts of nice things about my son, my brother, and me. My brother and I expressed how much Dad hated hospitals. He woke up from the original bout of sedation and was absolutely terrified, he asked he if he was in the same place that he watched his own grandfather (his only remaining family) die of Tuberculosis when he was 8. Carolyne and Jennifer arranged for the courtyard garden to be available, and when the time came we would take him from the ICU down to the garden and remove the machines. These two nurses made this moment as intimate and special as it could be, they were a miracle and took such good care of the three of us. It was a very special day and Jennifer and Carolyne did absolutely everything that they could to ensure that we weren't disturbed any more than necessary.
When the time came, they put three quilts on Dad to go outside and the four of us wheeled Dad down to the garden. Jen and Carolyne said goodbye to Dad and thanked him for both his service to our country and for being such a good patient. They removed the breathing tube and stood off to the side so we could be with Dad in his last moments. When I would take my son to Mexico to stay with Dad, he would sit and listen while I sang my son his bedtime song, Henry McClintock's 'Big Rock Candy Mountain' which would have first hit the radio waves the year my great grandfather died. I sang that to Dad as he looked up at the stars and took his final breaths.
Our nurses gave us space to take it in and didn't intrude until we asked them to help us get him back inside. As we got upstairs they told us they needed to prepare him for the funeral home. They handed my brother one quilt and me two, one for me and one for my son. We were all Dad had in the world, my son was his pride and joy. We often talk about the ladies at the hospital that took care of Grandpa, and how he liked to draw pictures for them to say thank you. He said that he's sad Grandpa is gone but his Grandpa blanket that we keep on his headboard is like a hug that he always has for when he needs to think about Grandpa. He says that it even smells like him sometimes. It's kind of funny, as I write this, I can smell him as if he were sitting right beside me. That mix of old man, cigarettes, and a strange lavender cologne he used that he bought in a market in downtown Guaymas, unique for sure.