I think of my life as a journey up a hill. Like the butterfly, I have had stages in my personal growth. Each moment gave me momentum and a reformation. Each time I accomplished something, I grew a little taller. Each time I embraced change, I felt that I learned and reconfigured myself.
Giving birth, winning my first job, gaining confidence in my teaching skills, my first published article, having my very own computer, camera, and other tools - all these things helped socially, emotionally, spiritually, psychologically. Certainly, blogging from our remote location, lakeside where the winter population turns from 5-digits to three, helped me keep in touch with the world. That has transformed the frozen winter into a technological treat.
Perhaps my most transformative moment was sitting beside my father as he lay dying.
Dad’s Passing
(Click on the link for the entire chapter from my book.)
At 12:15 they came in and repositioned him, shifting his weight to his other shoulder. The Personal Support Worker (PSW) offered me tea, coffee or juice and I asked for some tea. He brought me a tray.
I held dad’s hand, rubbed his boney shoulder, rearranged his blankets and looked at his mottled hands again. I counted his breaths at 12:50 and he was breathing 7 times every ten seconds. By 1:00 a.m. he was up to eight breaths. At 1:15 I heard Cheynes-Stokes breathing. His breathing stopped for about 10 seconds or so – it was hard to tell as time stopped for me. It wasn’t upsetting at all. I sat beside him holding my breath. When he started breathing again I was upset. I didn’t know how much longer I could take this! He needed to finally be out of pain. Mom, his parents, his cats and dogs; all were waiting. I had three cups of hot tea and made several visits to the bathroom. I fell asleep around 2:30 a.m., a long night's vigil, and woke around 4:00 as the PSW returned to the room.
The PSW had been in and checked dad. His core was still warm and it hadn’t been long ago that he had passed over. I felt as if a burden was lifted from my shoulders. No more guilt, or worrying over whether I had done enough or done the right thing. I had lobbied for weeks for more pain relief, but they didn't believe that he was in pain. I knew, at least, that he had no pain after his morphine injections.
I asked what had to happen. The doctor they would call at 7:00 a.m., there was no rush. They had rounds to finish and I decided to pack up dad’s room. I couldn’t face going back there that day. They told me I had a couple of days to clean out his things, but felt awake and I didn’t want Brian to lift anything. I carefully removed his Valentine decorations from the door and the window. I went into the bathroom and through out his toiletries and other personal items. I checked his drawers, folded up my comforter, placed the family photos into the pillowcases. It was a two-step process, walking through two passcode protected doors, one floor and a locked front door! They lock the door at night and, having gotten stuck last week, I knew it was hopeless to try and figure out how to get out before the morning staff came on. The PSW came in and washed Dad’s body while I took things down to the car.
Suddenly, I knew I was an orphan. I was the matriarch. There was no one to phone with good or bad news who was older and wiser. I was it. It was a sudden, momentous time. After a time I began to deal with it all. But I was totally shocked at the sudden burden on my shoulders, as well as the liberation of being 'the good daughter', to being able to make decisions.
