Timing

November 24, 2021…..the day dad passed.

One week ago today dad was in agony at the hospital. The 72-hour ward was over capacity, with many patients kept out in the hallways because not enough beds in rooms were available. Nurses often came 1 to 2 hours after being called. Medication was delayed so the pain was intense. We were told that preparing papers for a transfer to hospice care was in the process, but two days before that were we told that they had been filed. The ”transition liaison” stated, loud enough for dad, his roommate and family, and for us to hear that ”we didn’t expect him to survive the night so filing was delayed”. The move to hospice was a positive move in that dad would be cared for lovingly by nurse whose sole purpose was to make the final days as comfortable as possible for the patient and the family.

I have spent each night this past week sleeping on a cot in dad’s room. Each hour a nurse comes in just to check on dad, and every four hours he is given some medication. Sleep has not been great, but I am getting through the nights, knowing that in the morning someone will come and stay with dad so I can go home for a shower and a short break. ”Home” is my parent’s place where mom greets me each time with ”what are you doing here?” ”where have you been?” ”why is dad in hospice?” Poor mom no longer remembers much, but as soon as she is reminded of dad’s condition and what is going on, she wants to know what will happen to her.

And so my sister and her husband are in a tough spot. They have promised mom that they will live with her ”forever”. The day of dad’s stroke they were moving furniture into their new home a few blocks away. This is a new home they will most likely never occupy. Lots of questions lie ahead, and decisions will be made when the time is right. Several months ago my sister and her husband decided that they needed to sell their acreage and move closer to mom and dad since dad was getting tired and needed help caring for mom. Because of mom’s dementia and very stubborn spirit, a move into a care home would not be a suitable option at this time. Plus the Covid-19 pandemic has reinforced the idea that living communally in one’s senior years might not be the safest plan.

As my sister said, everything fell into place. Usually with the sale of an old home and purchase of a new home, along with the logistics of packing, downsizing and moving three provinces away, there are often many hurdles to overcome. Not this time. Everything fell into place.

And each morning I wake up (actually I wake up several times an hour during the night….) wondering what will happen to dad today? Each morning brings new discoveries about the dying process, reactions of each family member, the wonderful care of the nursing staff. Dad keeps breathing. Today there is no evidence of consciousness or response to voices, noises, music or motion. Is it his last morning? Or is he going to continue to confound the nurses and defy death. Is it his stubborn determination to complete his work and stay true to his promises? Is it his fear of the unknown and what happens after death? Or is it his timing, God’s timing?