The house is so quiet. The rhythmic wheeze of the concentrator that had been supplying oxygen to Papa for the past few years is gone now, and the silence is deafening.
I thought we had at least a few weeks... but the hospice aide told me yesterday that she could see Papa declining, and we should prepare ourselves. So I called my brother and asked him to bring Grant over, and I called one of my aunts and asked her to let the family back east know that this might be a good time to call and talk to Papa.
And last night was very good. He got calls from several family members, and although he had a hard time articulating words and even just staying awake, he did know who he was talking to, and he did understand and respond when they said they loved him.
And my nephew Grant, bless his heart... he sat at the coffee table and made origami, and whenever he finished a piece, he would take it over to show Papa, and Papa would grin and reach an arm around to hug him. It's scary for a kid, to face an old person in a hospital bed, with tubes and everything, no longer able to really even talk -- but Grant smiled so gently and hugged Papa every time, and when they left, he said "I love you, Grandpa." He's the most wonderful boy, and he made Papa so happy.
Papa hadn't wanted anything to eat all day, but I asked him if he would have some nice warm chocolate pudding with me, and he smiled and said he'd try, so I made some. I'm not supposed to eat anything at all, but I had a couple of bites of it with him, and then he couldn't eat any more.
And then we watched a couple of episodes of Andy Griffith, but he slept through the second one, so when the theme music came on at the end, I slowly turned the volume down and put out the lights. I wanted to say goodnight, but he's been in so much pain... I hated to wake him when he'd finally gotten comfortable enough to sleep without the gasping and restlessness he's had for so long. So I let him sleep.
Mom slept on the sofa, where he could see her and know that he wasn't alone. She said she put another blanket over him around 3:30, but he didn't wake up.
A little after 6:00, I came down the hall and, as I’ve done every time I wake up for the past couple of years, I stood and watched to make sure Papa was breathing. I didn't see any movement, and then I realized he was very pale... so I went over and patted his foot and said, "Papa?"
And I went and shook his shoulder and spoke again, and then I went over and woke Mom. I told her I thought we should check whether Papa was breathing okay. And she came over and spoke to him, and patted him, and then she put her hand on his forehead and said, "He's so cold!" And we realized it was over.
We talked to him then, just for a couple of minutes... told him how much we love him and how we'll miss him... I guess we both trusted that he could hear us, somehow.
And then I called the hospice people, and then my brother.
We all held Papa's hands and talked to him and kept him company while the arrangements were made, and then the funeral people came to take him away. I asked them please to be very gentle. We hid in another room while they did whatever they had to do, and we turned away from the window so we wouldn't see the hearse.
And then the three of us made some calls to let family and two special friends know... and Noel wrote down a list of things we have to do... and we arranged to meet with the funeral people tomorrow at 10:00... and then Noel went home, and I made Mom eat something and take one of the Xanax I asked her doctor for yesterday -- I'm so glad it occurred to me to get that. She’s asleep now, thank goodness.
People have been in and out of the house all day, carrying away the hospital bed, the wheelchair, the oxygen concentrator, the nebulizer, all the various supplies and equipment we’d brought in for Papa. My brother and I talked on the phone a minute ago about whether to bring in the recliner Papa used to sleep in and put it back in the corner. I thought at first it would be too painful, seeing it there, but then I realized... if Papa wants to come visit us in some way, he should have a place to sit. So we’ll put it back.
There was a man from the VA coming this week to present some medals Papa had earned, but never received. I hope now that he will present them to Mom, or if he’s able to come to the funeral, maybe he will present them there.
A few years ago, we all saw a story on the news about the fact that so many veterans of World War II are passing away now – something like a thousand a day – and it has become impossible to find enough buglers to play the traditional “Taps” for every funeral. Instead, they often use an electronic insert that fits into the bugle itself and plays the melody while a military man pretends to be playing it.
We all thought that was a terrible shame, and I said to Papa, “I promise, when that day comes, you will have a real live bugler, no matter what.” And he very seriously thanked me for that. Music mattered to him, and tradition mattered to him, and he wanted it to be real.
So I called the DFW National Cemetery this morning, a special military cemetery like the one at Arlington, Virginia, and I told them how important this is to us. They gave me three numbers to call, and the first man I called said he would be honored to play “Taps” for Papa. So I will be able to keep my promise.
I thought we had at least a few weeks... but the hospice aide told me yesterday that she could see Papa declining, and we should prepare ourselves. So I called my brother and asked him to bring Grant over, and I called one of my aunts and asked her to let the family back east know that this might be a good time to call and talk to Papa.
And last night was very good. He got calls from several family members, and although he had a hard time articulating words and even just staying awake, he did know who he was talking to, and he did understand and respond when they said they loved him.
And my nephew Grant, bless his heart... he sat at the coffee table and made origami, and whenever he finished a piece, he would take it over to show Papa, and Papa would grin and reach an arm around to hug him. It's scary for a kid, to face an old person in a hospital bed, with tubes and everything, no longer able to really even talk -- but Grant smiled so gently and hugged Papa every time, and when they left, he said "I love you, Grandpa." He's the most wonderful boy, and he made Papa so happy.
Papa hadn't wanted anything to eat all day, but I asked him if he would have some nice warm chocolate pudding with me, and he smiled and said he'd try, so I made some. I'm not supposed to eat anything at all, but I had a couple of bites of it with him, and then he couldn't eat any more.
And then we watched a couple of episodes of Andy Griffith, but he slept through the second one, so when the theme music came on at the end, I slowly turned the volume down and put out the lights. I wanted to say goodnight, but he's been in so much pain... I hated to wake him when he'd finally gotten comfortable enough to sleep without the gasping and restlessness he's had for so long. So I let him sleep.
Mom slept on the sofa, where he could see her and know that he wasn't alone. She said she put another blanket over him around 3:30, but he didn't wake up.
A little after 6:00, I came down the hall and, as I’ve done every time I wake up for the past couple of years, I stood and watched to make sure Papa was breathing. I didn't see any movement, and then I realized he was very pale... so I went over and patted his foot and said, "Papa?"
And I went and shook his shoulder and spoke again, and then I went over and woke Mom. I told her I thought we should check whether Papa was breathing okay. And she came over and spoke to him, and patted him, and then she put her hand on his forehead and said, "He's so cold!" And we realized it was over.
We talked to him then, just for a couple of minutes... told him how much we love him and how we'll miss him... I guess we both trusted that he could hear us, somehow.
And then I called the hospice people, and then my brother.
We all held Papa's hands and talked to him and kept him company while the arrangements were made, and then the funeral people came to take him away. I asked them please to be very gentle. We hid in another room while they did whatever they had to do, and we turned away from the window so we wouldn't see the hearse.
And then the three of us made some calls to let family and two special friends know... and Noel wrote down a list of things we have to do... and we arranged to meet with the funeral people tomorrow at 10:00... and then Noel went home, and I made Mom eat something and take one of the Xanax I asked her doctor for yesterday -- I'm so glad it occurred to me to get that. She’s asleep now, thank goodness.
People have been in and out of the house all day, carrying away the hospital bed, the wheelchair, the oxygen concentrator, the nebulizer, all the various supplies and equipment we’d brought in for Papa. My brother and I talked on the phone a minute ago about whether to bring in the recliner Papa used to sleep in and put it back in the corner. I thought at first it would be too painful, seeing it there, but then I realized... if Papa wants to come visit us in some way, he should have a place to sit. So we’ll put it back.
There was a man from the VA coming this week to present some medals Papa had earned, but never received. I hope now that he will present them to Mom, or if he’s able to come to the funeral, maybe he will present them there.
A few years ago, we all saw a story on the news about the fact that so many veterans of World War II are passing away now – something like a thousand a day – and it has become impossible to find enough buglers to play the traditional “Taps” for every funeral. Instead, they often use an electronic insert that fits into the bugle itself and plays the melody while a military man pretends to be playing it.
We all thought that was a terrible shame, and I said to Papa, “I promise, when that day comes, you will have a real live bugler, no matter what.” And he very seriously thanked me for that. Music mattered to him, and tradition mattered to him, and he wanted it to be real.
So I called the DFW National Cemetery this morning, a special military cemetery like the one at Arlington, Virginia, and I told them how important this is to us. They gave me three numbers to call, and the first man I called said he would be honored to play “Taps” for Papa. So I will be able to keep my promise.
