I am sitting here tonight, not sad, not happy, just with a quiet contemplation and melancholy. When I started writing about my journey with my father at the end of his life, I dreaded writing this post. Nearly 5 months have gone by since that night, and while the pain is still there (the kind that sneaks up quietly at times when all seems well - and takes you over for a while and brings tears to your eyes while for some reason there is still a small smile on your lips), it is not as gut wrenching as it was when it first happened. In many ways, the days leading up until his passing were more painful - that shot to the solar plexus of pain. Now, I am able to look back and feel a sense of peace - and I can honestly say that I have no regrets. I am sure my father would say the same thing. His life, while having its ups and downs, ended in a peaceful, loving, quiet and calm manner. His visit earth side was one hell of a ride, however his next step in the journey was quiet. As it should be. This post is about that last day with him. While it will be hard to write at times, and will be difficult to read (especially for those who have lost a major contributor to their life), it is needed. It is the end of my fathers physical story.
As on other mornings, I woke up and the first thought was going to the hospital to see Dad. I called around to see if I could get a ride in, as it was rainy and I really did not want to have to rely on public transit. My friend and neighbour offered to give me a lift in. I was grateful as I had had to lean on her a few times during the past week, and she did it selflessly. If she ends up reading this, she will know who she is and I am eternally grateful for her support and help.
Before I left for the hospital, I called the palliative ward. I wanted an update, pure and simple. The doctor in charge that day (it was a holiday Monday - the day after Remembrance Day here) and I asked if Dad was still on an IV. He replied no that I had to accept that my father was dying. I asked how long he figured Dad had. He was a little moody and would not pin point a time period until I repeatedly asked. He finally said 3 - 5 days left. I was disgusted thinking that my father would be slowly starving or thirsty. I told him I wanted an IV put back in (I did not realise then that stages of dying include the fact that the body does not need food or fluid) and he said he could not, but he could put two small tubes in his upper arms for saline to go to his muscles where it would be absorbed into his body. It was better then nothing to be honest, so I was grateful for that.
We got up to the hospital and I walked in, said hi to Dad, spoke with him for a few minutes and then went to make a few phone calls - family, friends, anyone who would want to know that Dad was indeed in his last stage of life. Not many people answered family-wise, but I left messages. A few of his friends answered (you know who you are) and I spoke to them, informing them of what was going on. One of his friends, a really nice guy who I had never met, told me he would come up and see Dad. I waited around, going from Dads room to the quiet room next door to drink tea and back again. I noticed while in the quiet room that it faced the room that I birthed my youngest daughter. I remember being in that room, holding a tiny newborn, looking out the window and seeing a beautiful room with flowers and plants. I wondered what that room was, thinking it was some doctors lounge or something, however it would end up being the room I collected my thoughts while my father laid dying. It was strange yet comforting.
Dads friend got to the hospital to spend time with him, and I could tell it hit him hard. Dad looked like he was at the end of his life. His vibrancy was muted, his large personality was not as large. It was hard enough for ME to see, let alone someone who had last seen him doing relatively well. My heart broke for this man, as he truly looked up to my Dad, and cared.
He hung around for a little bit, he had brought with him a magazine for Dad (which I thought was very thoughtful - it was the 100 Year History of the Grey Cup *Superbowl Canadian style*) and we chatted to each other and to Dad. At this point Dad was getting quite restless and appeared to be cold - so I brought the blanket up higher and tucked him in. I walked Dads friend down and said my goodbyes and thanked him again for coming in.
I stood outside for a bit, called my good friend K and asked if she could come pick me up at around 9. She said sure. I went back up to Dads room and he was very restless. I asked the nurse if he could have something for pain and she said he could have it on demand. She came in with another nurse, they got Dad comfortable on the bed and gave him two injections. He calmed down pretty much right away. After they left a song came on the radio - Enya Only Time. This song meant something to me because I remember hearing it years before while Dad lay in the ER after a mild heart attack. I was so scared that night even though I knew he would be fine. Hearing it again on this night, it was a sign to me. Tonight was the night. I knew it in my soul. I crawled back up on the bed beside him and asked him if he was ready to go, he shook his head again rapidly. I then asked him "Daddy, are you ready to rest? Because if you are, I understand and I am okay with that. I love you Daddy and you have fought hard. If you need to rest, please, rest."
That was the single hardest thing I have ever had to say because in essence, I was giving him the okay and telling him I was letting him go.
I called the girls to say goodnight, and sang my songs to Ariana over the phone (You are my sunshine, Twinkle Twinkle little Star and a goodnight puppy song she likes) and then put the phone to his ear. She said goodnight Grandpa, I love you. Goodbye.
I then put Sean on the phone and later found out that he told my Dad that it was okay if he was ready to rest, that he would take care of his girls for him.
I then hung up the phone with the girls and Sean and spent a while with Dad. I realised his breathing was becoming irregular, and that he did not want me to witness his last breath. I said that I understood that he was ready to rest and that I would go home to be with the girls and Sean, but I would be back when it was time or shortly thereafter. I played a video I had taken of Ariana singing "I have peace and love" for her Remembrance Day school concert (I had taken a private video of just her sweet voice singing it at home).
I cried, I wept, I hugged him and I kissed him goodbye.
I remember slowly walking out of the room, and to the elevator, where the tears came in a flood. I slowly walked out of the hospital to the parking lot where K was waiting for me. She saw me coming, and I could tell by the look on her face that she could see my tears through the rain. I got in her car and just sobbed on her shoulder. I told her it was tonight. I just knew it. We started talking about Dad. About the stories he told me while I was growing up. About being a little boy climbing a totem pole. About blowing up army men in his backyard with firecrackers when he was 8 years old. We sat in that parking lot, talking, laughing, crying, smoking and drawing strength from each other. Finally, after an hour, she took me home. I walked in the door and told Sean I had to check on my babies. When I walked into Ariana's room at 10 pm that night, the smell of my dads hospital room and his gum was permeating the room. I nursed the baby for a few minutes and then came down stairs. At 11:13 pm I started getting a heavy feeling on my chest, my heart hurt and it was difficult to breath. I called the nurse and she said he was still the same, but she would go check because sometimes families just knew.
I waited for what seemed and eternity, and finally heard her coming back - but she was running. She grabbed the phone up and said breathlessly that his breathing was quite irregular and I needed to come back. I hung up and called K because Sean needed to be with the girls in case they woke up. K showed up at my front door about 5 minutes later (breaking the speed limit but what the hell ) and we were off. We were going VERY fast, passing two cop cars that did not seem to see us. It wasn't until we were about 8 blocks from the hospital that all of the sudden we hit EVERY SINGLE RED LIGHT.
We finally got to the hospital, K getting out to pay and then we raced for the ER entrance, me running ahead. I yelled to security that I had to get to palliative and he hit the button to get me to the elevators. The very same elevator that I had mentioned in a previous post (the one that would go up and down and not open the doors until I said "Dad cut it out") was standing open. There was no one around. The lights in the elevator were dimmed. K and I looked at each other and went up to the third floor. I got out of the elevator and flat out RAN. I ran past the nurses station (the nurses saw me as I went past and rushed to get up to get to Dads room) and I entered my fathers room.
My father had passed away 10 minutes before I got there. I remember yelling "Oh Daddy..." (however I later found out I whispered it) and I collapsed. The nurse and K held me up and then I noticed a song on the radio had just started it. The song was:
As on other mornings, I woke up and the first thought was going to the hospital to see Dad. I called around to see if I could get a ride in, as it was rainy and I really did not want to have to rely on public transit. My friend and neighbour offered to give me a lift in. I was grateful as I had had to lean on her a few times during the past week, and she did it selflessly. If she ends up reading this, she will know who she is and I am eternally grateful for her support and help.
Before I left for the hospital, I called the palliative ward. I wanted an update, pure and simple. The doctor in charge that day (it was a holiday Monday - the day after Remembrance Day here) and I asked if Dad was still on an IV. He replied no that I had to accept that my father was dying. I asked how long he figured Dad had. He was a little moody and would not pin point a time period until I repeatedly asked. He finally said 3 - 5 days left. I was disgusted thinking that my father would be slowly starving or thirsty. I told him I wanted an IV put back in (I did not realise then that stages of dying include the fact that the body does not need food or fluid) and he said he could not, but he could put two small tubes in his upper arms for saline to go to his muscles where it would be absorbed into his body. It was better then nothing to be honest, so I was grateful for that.
We got up to the hospital and I walked in, said hi to Dad, spoke with him for a few minutes and then went to make a few phone calls - family, friends, anyone who would want to know that Dad was indeed in his last stage of life. Not many people answered family-wise, but I left messages. A few of his friends answered (you know who you are) and I spoke to them, informing them of what was going on. One of his friends, a really nice guy who I had never met, told me he would come up and see Dad. I waited around, going from Dads room to the quiet room next door to drink tea and back again. I noticed while in the quiet room that it faced the room that I birthed my youngest daughter. I remember being in that room, holding a tiny newborn, looking out the window and seeing a beautiful room with flowers and plants. I wondered what that room was, thinking it was some doctors lounge or something, however it would end up being the room I collected my thoughts while my father laid dying. It was strange yet comforting.
Dads friend got to the hospital to spend time with him, and I could tell it hit him hard. Dad looked like he was at the end of his life. His vibrancy was muted, his large personality was not as large. It was hard enough for ME to see, let alone someone who had last seen him doing relatively well. My heart broke for this man, as he truly looked up to my Dad, and cared.
He hung around for a little bit, he had brought with him a magazine for Dad (which I thought was very thoughtful - it was the 100 Year History of the Grey Cup *Superbowl Canadian style*) and we chatted to each other and to Dad. At this point Dad was getting quite restless and appeared to be cold - so I brought the blanket up higher and tucked him in. I walked Dads friend down and said my goodbyes and thanked him again for coming in.
I stood outside for a bit, called my good friend K and asked if she could come pick me up at around 9. She said sure. I went back up to Dads room and he was very restless. I asked the nurse if he could have something for pain and she said he could have it on demand. She came in with another nurse, they got Dad comfortable on the bed and gave him two injections. He calmed down pretty much right away. After they left a song came on the radio - Enya Only Time. This song meant something to me because I remember hearing it years before while Dad lay in the ER after a mild heart attack. I was so scared that night even though I knew he would be fine. Hearing it again on this night, it was a sign to me. Tonight was the night. I knew it in my soul. I crawled back up on the bed beside him and asked him if he was ready to go, he shook his head again rapidly. I then asked him "Daddy, are you ready to rest? Because if you are, I understand and I am okay with that. I love you Daddy and you have fought hard. If you need to rest, please, rest."
That was the single hardest thing I have ever had to say because in essence, I was giving him the okay and telling him I was letting him go.
I then put Sean on the phone and later found out that he told my Dad that it was okay if he was ready to rest, that he would take care of his girls for him.
I then hung up the phone with the girls and Sean and spent a while with Dad. I realised his breathing was becoming irregular, and that he did not want me to witness his last breath. I said that I understood that he was ready to rest and that I would go home to be with the girls and Sean, but I would be back when it was time or shortly thereafter. I played a video I had taken of Ariana singing "I have peace and love" for her Remembrance Day school concert (I had taken a private video of just her sweet voice singing it at home).
I cried, I wept, I hugged him and I kissed him goodbye.
I remember slowly walking out of the room, and to the elevator, where the tears came in a flood. I slowly walked out of the hospital to the parking lot where K was waiting for me. She saw me coming, and I could tell by the look on her face that she could see my tears through the rain. I got in her car and just sobbed on her shoulder. I told her it was tonight. I just knew it. We started talking about Dad. About the stories he told me while I was growing up. About being a little boy climbing a totem pole. About blowing up army men in his backyard with firecrackers when he was 8 years old. We sat in that parking lot, talking, laughing, crying, smoking and drawing strength from each other. Finally, after an hour, she took me home. I walked in the door and told Sean I had to check on my babies. When I walked into Ariana's room at 10 pm that night, the smell of my dads hospital room and his gum was permeating the room. I nursed the baby for a few minutes and then came down stairs. At 11:13 pm I started getting a heavy feeling on my chest, my heart hurt and it was difficult to breath. I called the nurse and she said he was still the same, but she would go check because sometimes families just knew.
I waited for what seemed and eternity, and finally heard her coming back - but she was running. She grabbed the phone up and said breathlessly that his breathing was quite irregular and I needed to come back. I hung up and called K because Sean needed to be with the girls in case they woke up. K showed up at my front door about 5 minutes later (breaking the speed limit but what the hell ) and we were off. We were going VERY fast, passing two cop cars that did not seem to see us. It wasn't until we were about 8 blocks from the hospital that all of the sudden we hit EVERY SINGLE RED LIGHT.
We finally got to the hospital, K getting out to pay and then we raced for the ER entrance, me running ahead. I yelled to security that I had to get to palliative and he hit the button to get me to the elevators. The very same elevator that I had mentioned in a previous post (the one that would go up and down and not open the doors until I said "Dad cut it out") was standing open. There was no one around. The lights in the elevator were dimmed. K and I looked at each other and went up to the third floor. I got out of the elevator and flat out RAN. I ran past the nurses station (the nurses saw me as I went past and rushed to get up to get to Dads room) and I entered my fathers room.
My father had passed away 10 minutes before I got there. I remember yelling "Oh Daddy..." (however I later found out I whispered it) and I collapsed. The nurse and K held me up and then I noticed a song on the radio had just started it. The song was:
I noticed once everyone left the room that my Dad had passed while looking at a picture of my girls. That he had not been alone - both nurses were with him when he passed. That he simply took a deep breath in and that was it. That was the end of his time earth side.
Daddy, although you are not around to read this, I hope I did you proud with what I have written. You have done me proud. I will carry you in my heart for all time, and I know that you are around, watching over us and guiding me. I will make you proud Dad. I meet you on the other side, decades from now. And what a conversation that will be.
Something I wrote on Face book the moment I got home:
Tonight, at 11:15 pm, a man allowed himself to rest. He fought a hard fight, lived an amazing life, and loved purely. Dad, I will carry a piece of you in my heart forever. I am so honoured to have been able to be with you through this process, just you and I. I am so blessed to have been able to kiss you goodbye shortly after you took your last breath. You are not gone, but you are at peace. I am lifting a drink in your honour.
You did good. I love you.
Warren Hardman May 19 1951 - November 12 2012.
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