29,048 days

My father died this morning. He was 79 years old.

It wasn't really a surprise. His health has been failing recently -- failing fast. See, e.g., this post and this one and even this one.

And really it was less of a surprise than that. Three weeks ago (while I was out with Son 2 on this trip) I got a phone call from my mother. She was at the hospital. Father had had another spell where he started retaining fluids so fast they got into his lungs and he couldn't breathe. Now the hospital had drained his lungs and he was agitating to go home. His doctor said No, he's not well enough to go home yet. If he leaves now, it's against medical advice.

At this point I was feeling pretty unsympathetic. Sure, I understand that hospitals are no fun, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do. But then my mother went on to say that the doctor had told her Father really was never going to get better.

Wait, what? Then what's the point of keeping him? If the outcome is going to be the same either way, why not let him go home where he feels comfortable? My mother confirmed that yes, they had started to talk to her about hospice care and then asked what was my opinion? (She was going to call Brother next and ask him the same thing.)

At that I slowed down. I told her there was no way I could make the decision for Father, but I was willing to explain my understanding of what the decision really meant. I said that really the choice was between two alternatives:

1. Father still wants to get well. In that case, he should suck it up and accept being in the hospital. He should obey all their silly rules and eat their lousy food because that's part of the price of getting well.
2. Or not. In that case he can go home, where he is far more comfortable. He can be in familiar surroundings, doing whatever he wants to do. Also, the hospice nurses will come by from time to time to make sure he is comfortable. But in that case he has to understand that some time -- maybe sooner, maybe later -- he will have another one of these spells. And when he does, it will kill him.

That was my mother's understanding too. Then she said, "Oh look, he's waking up. Can I put him on the phone so you can explain this to him the way you did to me?" Uh, sure.

So I talked to Father. I started by chit-chatting, asking how he was doing. He said he wanted to go home. So I said, "Yeah, ... about that," and went on to explain exactly the choice I had explained to my mom.

I didn't expect him to be paying attention. Even when he was well, Father didn't do a very good job of listening to others; and I've already described how his sickness seemed to make him more likely to let his mind wander. So I was unprepared for what he said next. He said, "Let me make sure I've understood you. I think what you are saying is ..." and then repeated back what I had just told him, in his own words, lucidly and letter-perfect.

"Yes, that's it. That's exactly what I said."

"OK, I understand. Thank you for your support."

My support? Wait, I didn't say I agreed with him about going home. No, that's true. But clearly he figured that -- if the terms of the decision really were what I spelled out -- then the decision itself was a slam-dunk. He went home later that day, while Son 2 and I went on with our trip.

That phone call was twenty-three days ago.

I saw him once after that -- two weeks ago today, when I drove the three hours to their town to spend the afternoon visiting. Father was weak and stayed in his wheelchair the whole time. But he was lucid and in good humor. I joked with him a lot -- I have always found it easier and safer to joke with him than to discuss anything serious -- and he had a good humor. Later my mother said that he really appreciated the visit.

And this morning he died.

I had thought to use this blog at least partly as a place to talk through elements of my relationship with Father, the way I used to use it to talk through my relationship with Wife. I can still do that, of course, but it will all have to be retrospective: things I could have said or should have said, or new ways to understand what went before. There is no more living relationship to think about fixing.

Of course that makes things simpler. I'll still think about him to try to understand the parts of our relationship that didn't work ... hell, I've been doing that already for decades. And I suppose I'll get around to writing some of it down. We'll see how it goes.

I inherited a lot from him. The "Talks loud, laughs louder" in my motto at the top of the page comes straight from my dad. And I inherited behaviors that didn't serve me nearly so well, behaviors I then had to unlearn over long years.

I'll talk about this, but there's no rush.