This Week at Hospice
I got here to hospice in Cincinnati on Tuesday. When I came, my dad was not entirely incoherent. We had a 20 second conversation.
--I'm here dad, I've come back to see you.
--I'm glad you came back, thomas.
--I'm glad to be here.
--Thank you for coming.
--I want you to know I love you, Daddy.
--I love you too Thomas.
And that was it. Since then, he went from some incoherent talking to now not talking at all.
I have been talking at him. I've been telling him that he's dying, and that I will miss him, that we all will, but that we are OK and he is free to go. I've been telling him about heaven, about singing and dancing again, about the beauty of it, about freedom from pain and loneliness.
Sometimes he just lies there. Sometimes he seems to be hearing me, he moves a bit, maybe opens his mouth somewhat.
He hasn't had much fluid for days. He seems comfortable now, getting jaundiced. His breathing is a bit shallow, but regular. His heart is strong. Maybe too strong.
I'm going home today. I'm sad to leave him and sad to leave my mom. Mom and I haven't spent this much time alone together in many years. But I want to be home with my beloved wife and children. I want to be in church--for me.
I don't know if I will see dad alive again. My prayer is that he will pass quickly and soon. I don't need to see him again, though I may. I've said everything I want to say. And I've heard what I need to hear. I have kept vigil, and I may again, but for now it is time to go home.
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