It's been 3 days since my dad was brought to Hospice. We are watching him dying slowly, as pneumonia, a urinary tract infection and c-diff, an infection in the bowels, is ravaging his body. He is being given large doses of morphine and hasn't eaten or had any liquids for several days. He is not responsive to us and just lays there with his mouth wide open. We are just sitting here waiting. Waiting for his body to succumb to death. Waiting and watching and realizing that this is the reality that we all have to face eventually. When I was in the mental hospital, the staff used to cry out "face reality! Face reality!" Now I guess I know what they were talking about. It's much easier to live in a fantasy world...
I want my dad to be the strong, angry man he was when we were coming up. I want him to be the dad who sat at the kitchen table when I was out late at night, waiting for me to come home. I want him to be the man again who laughed out loud with a hearty laugh that was contagious to all around him. I want him to be with me again in the bathroom with all the hot water running because I had asthma attacks and it was thought that steam to be good for asthmatics. I want him to look at my paintings and see his pleasure as he critiqued each one. I want to talk with him again like we have these past 2 years, as he opened up about his feelings.
But that's all past now and all that is left is a frail man holding on to his last breath. And I'm having an incredibly difficult time facing this reality. I've come to really love my father and I just don't want to let him go.
But the reality is I have to....
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