by Patti Holm
By now, dad is back at the nursing
facility after suffering a major heart attack and stroke. He is on "comfort" measures
only. He made sure that I knew what he
wanted if it ever came to this. He never
wanted any "heroic" measures or machines keeping him alive. He told me that he never wanted to exist as a
vegetable. This has been one of the
hardest things I've ever had to do. I
just sit with him, hold his hand, put cool cloths on his forehead, talk and
pray with him. So many family members
and friends come to visit him, but are not sure what to say, so we just visit
together for a while. I believe that on
some level, he knows we're here -- maybe.
The staff assures me that he is not in pain, and is not suffering, but I
wrestle with the what-ifs. I ask about
how long "it" will take, and they tell me that "it" varies
with each person. The will to live is
stronger in some than in others. I sit
and wonder about the purpose of all this, and I feel the pain of losing someone
so dear. I know that deep down, there is
a reason, so I just keep waiting. I find
myself taking a trip of my own down "memory lane." I want to gently shake him one more time and
ask, "Dad, are you in there?"
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