 |
| Peter Farrow |
Last Tuesday, I spoke to my dad on the phone. He
sounded tired and frustrated. My dad has always played at being an acerbic cynic,
and in this conversation was he was no different. He was annoyed by doctors in
general and annoyed by his medication slowing him down and annoyed that his
heart wasn’t working right and angry that he couldn’t do the things he wanted
to do. He also said that he didn’t want to die in a hospital. I assured him
that medical kidnapping was illegal and that no one could force him to die in a
hospital if he didn’t want to. Eventually, as he always did when I talked to
him, he said, “Hold on, I’ll get your mother,” and passed the phone off to my
mom. We made plans for Mr. Typist and I come over and take them to lunch on
Sunday. The next day, my mom called me in tears from St. Joseph’s Hospital. Dad
had a heart attack in the car on his way home from his doctor’s appointment. We
“rushed” to St. Joe’s—two hours through horrific Seattle traffic--and when I
got to the ER, I went into a weird sort of shock. I was uncharacteristically scattered
and disorganized. I was somehow convinced that I had lost my cell phone, when it
was right there in my coat pocket. I couldn’t focus and I had moments of panic
where I felt like I was falling from a high place and was about to start screaming
uncontrollably. I kept telling myself I had to keep it under control or they
were going to call Security. I know from working in a hospital that being
called in to deal with a crazy person is not a fun experience for Security. They have to "de-escalate" you, and I did not want to be subjected to "de-escalation." I would have felt bad for causing trouble. I
managed to avoid completely losing my s, they eventually moved Dad into a room,
and we went home around 11:00 p.m.
Two days later, I got in an ambulance and rode
with my Dad to the hospice. The EMT who sat in the back with me was a willful,
tough-minded young man who loves his job. He’s moving to Texas soon to continue
his career, and I wish him the best. Dad got settled into the hospice quickly. The
nurses and the ARNP who tended to my dad were luminous, and I am very grateful
to them. Our family priest, a man I hadn’t met before, whose face is etched
with irrepressible joy, came and did Last Rites and sat with us for a few
hours. We stayed with Dad until the end, talking and crying and laughing. He passed away at shortly after 11:00 p.m.
that evening, just after Mr. Typist and I and my sister-in-law went out for a
food run. When we came back, he wasn’t in his body any more. He looked waxy and
there was nothing left of him. The nurse checked his heart and confirmed his
death.
So that happened. I took a few days off, but I
was glad to go back to work, where I have a sense of control over things,
however delusional. I’ve had more than one anxiety attack in the privacy of my
office, but I got things done. I called my best friend. I bought some new
clothes. I got a hot-stone massage today
from a nice but exhaustingly perky LMT. I’ve thought vaguely about returning to
the Catholic church and getting right with God. The funeral is on Wednesday. I
don’t know what else to say. My dad had an enormously positive impact on many people
who society long ago gave up on. He was a champion of lost souls. I believe
that he wanted to keep on going, but his heart had been bad for a long time,
and he had been given a few precious extra years already thanks to a valve
replacement. I’m raw and in a bit of shock and worried for my siblings and my
mom, but as of this moment, I’m holding it together. I’m holding it together.
Thank you for listening.
--Kristen McHenry
7 comments:
wonderfull well written heartfelt tribute.i was relieved to read he didnt die at the hospital.only empty words left to say for me.i wish you strength <3
Thank you very much for reading, Anonymous. Thank you for your wish of strength. I appreciate it.
Kristen, a beautiful tribute to your father; very well written and meaningful to those who knew him. He was a champion to individuals whom society had left behind, and he made a positive impression on those who knew him. I am glad he was my older brother who often gave me sage advice while we both were growing up. I was glad to hear he died peacefully surrounded by family. Thanks for sharing,
So great that hospices exist like the one you and your family experienced. He got his wish and he left with grace and tears and laughter and surrounded by those he loved dearly. I wish you lots of strength this week when you attend the funeral. I hope everyone has a good exchange of stories and anecdotes to bolster you through this trying time. Dont forget a notebook to write them down.
With love from Czech Republic, your long-lost penpal and cousin Carolyn x
Thank you, Ms Typist... that was beautiful.
My father passed this November so I know a small bit of what you are going through. As the anonymous writer commented above, no words can truly console the raw emotions. But if this helps, I am told that most people depart this life when their loved ones are no longer present in the room...He knew he was loved; he knew you cared.
I'm sorry for your loss. Thanks for putting all this into words. I'll be lucky to have even a fraction of your aplomb when my parents die.
Thank you, Nancy, Caroline (Hi!!), Jo-Ann (I owe you an e-mail) and Dave, for reading. As death goes, it was the most you could ask for--peaceful, painless, and surrounded by love.
Post a Comment