Part 2: Dying

The ring of the telephone awakened me that morning. It was Mom. The angioplasty was successful, but Dad had not stabilized after the surgery. The dehydration was severe, his kidneys were failing. Pneumonia had set it. The blockage in his heart had been cleared, but his ticker was not strong. Tears welled in my eyes as I asked, though knowing the answer, "Do I need to come?"

At breakfast I cried uncontrollably. I couldn't hide it from the girls, and I didn't care. It's okay for them to know that Mommy gets upset, too. Sophia, my four-year old, scolded me. "Mom, I want you to stop your fussing this instant." (Wow, I wonder where she's heard that before?!) In that moment of childhood innocence and comic relief, I took a deep breath and sighed. I explained to Sophia that there is a difference between fussing and being sad. "I'm sad because Grandpa is very sick. He's not doing well." Sophia responded, "I'm sad, too."

As a patient in the Intensive Care Unit, Dad's interaction was limited to no more than two visitors at a time. He had no phone in his room, and cell phones were prohibited. But Mom explained the extenuating circumstances to the doctors, and they granted my wish. I had only moments to express a lifetime of joy. What do I say? Dad tried to talk, but the fluid in his lungs garbled his speech. I could not understand a single syllable he uttered. I interrupted, "Dad. Whatever you are trying to tell me, it just doesn't matter. Mom will tell me. Listen, Dad. I love you. I love you so much. I'm coming."

I had to act fast. Only one airline flies direct to Des Moines, but it's out of Washington, DC. My biggest fear was that I wouldn't get there in time. "What do I pack?" I asked myself. I threw a few random clothes into a bag. Then I stopped to mentally review my dress attire for anything black.

We battled traffic on the capital beltway, and I got to the airport in time, only to find out that the flight was two hours delayed. I explained that I had purchased a bereavement ticket. Of course, the airline convinced me that my direct flight leaving late would get in about the same time as another flight with a layover. The flight was later canceled, and no other carriers could accommodate me any sooner.

I was stuck in an airport for four hours while my father was dying. My emotions were all over the map. I was sad, frightened, pissed off, and anxious. It was a race against time, and I had no control. Crying hysterically, I called my sister. "Tell Mom they canceled my flight, and I'm not going to make it." Mom called me moments later. She informed me, "I'm putting your Dad on life support. I don't know if he will last till you get here, but we hope he will. We'll see you soon." I frantically responded, "Thank you, Mom. Thank you so much. I just want to see him and say goodbye."

Once again, I had hope. I prayed to God, "Don't let him linger. But if it be your will, keep him strong till I can hold his hand, kiss him, and tell him how much I love him."

At last I boarded the plane, and I finally slept. It felt good to let my body and mind shut down. I would need my strength for the hours and days to come. When I awoke, I contemplated and scripted my parting words, my last chance to share my love and my thanks to him.

That day was the longest day of my life… That is, until the dawn of the following day.