The family starting calling and coming over, and undeniably sweet moments began to surround Dad and to fill the house. My sister Megan leaned over him, in tears, and gently wiped his cheeks and chin and brow, talking sweetly to him, and he awoke enough for several lucid minutes of whispered conversation as she related old memories of growing up in New Jersey. When he slipped back into unconsciousness, she summarized to him some of the more interesting stories in the day’s New York Times. Niece Afton stood by and rubbed his arms for an hour and sang to him his favorite family song, “Sweetheart of the Rockies.” My son Caleb spoke out with “Love you, Grandpa!” and Dad’s eyes fluttered and he whispered back, “Love you, too.” Caleb joined his siblings on a Messenger call, and they all took turns saying good-bye, or to wave and cry. Rosie and Veronica, two CNAs, deftly rolled him over and back in order to install a draw sheet, disposable chucks (pads), and a new brief, and swabbed his mouth with a wet sponge, and installed pillows beneath his calves to keep his heels off the mattress to avoid pressure sores. My daughter Erin expressed her love and sadness from the other side of planet Earth, and my sister Jeanette and her husband Craig and Dad’s brother Bill called me to tell me they loved me and appreciated my efforts and pledged their support. Friends Ana and Solange sang Brazilian lullabies to him, and Ana told me how she had the strongest impression when entering the house that Sarah, who died exactly a year before, was there in the house with us, with Dad, along with other loving spirits—Ana could feel their presence so strongly—and how their presence remained until just after the CNAs had finished caring for Dad and Dad had finished crying out in pain as they rolled him to and fro and we had given him more lorazepam and morphine to ease his pain and anxiety and he slipped into soft snores—then Sarah left. And I told Ana I was glad she could feel such beautiful mystical things and tell me about them because I am both utterly empty and completely saturated and can feel nothing but only flow from one task to the next to the next—there are so many tasks—and in between I can but withdraw into myself and sit curled up in an emotional corner unable and unwilling and unready to feel. The last person awake in the house, I looked at Dad in the nightlight glow and knew he was dying and would be dead within hours and saw his passing as just another fact among an infinity of sterile facts, like the ripening of the green bananas, like making mashed potatoes and sausages so I had something useful to do, like the glow of the reading lamp and the squeak of the rocking chair, and Megan’s teary eyes, and Mom’s veneer of cheer thinly covering a universe of grief and fear, and the stars shining coldly in the winter sky.
Rabbit Lane 
Splendid description of your dad’s final moments, Roger. I can feel the love.
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I’m afraid to read the rest after this. It breaks my heart what you & your family have been thru in one years time. I’m praying for you all.
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After some rough hours, he passed away peacefully. The funeral and interment were tender and moving. He is no longer suffering. We are calm and peaceful.
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Birds, mostly cardinals, had been pecking at Dad’s and my bedroom windows, as well as the living room window for some time before & after his departure. There was an abundance of butterflies fluttering around me so much that summer that it wasn’t normal, too. Some things can’t be explained.
If I recall correctly (the blur), my dad, after days of silence, abruptly began trying to speak loudly the morning of his death. His mouth wouldn’t cooperate. “Daddy, what are you trying to say?” I wanted to know so badly (& still do). Either that day or before, a cardinal was trapped in and killed by the grill of the vehicle and was buried in the yard. I took a break from being in the room. I watered plants in the backyard. I thought I felt Dad seeing me through the window. I then sat on the couch for a moment. When I returned to Dad’s side, Dad was no longer in his body. I HOPE HE KNEW I HELD HIM UNTIL THE PEOPLE CAME TO GET HIM. He wouldn’t leave while I was in the room. Nor would Mom, or our fish, Jeremiah. I can’t convey my appreciation for how you typed this. Your mom’s veneer thinly concealing the universe inside, the presence of special beings, what you shared, and the silence in and void of what isn’t here.
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Thank you so much. You had powerful experiences, a spiritual realm undeniable. I hope to understand it all better someday. I have appreciated your companionship and support throughout. BTW I was with Amy and Sunshine last week, and they are well and say Hi.
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Yes, my goodness! He had mysteries and miracles follow him all through life. Thank you for such kindness. You’ve inspired me to write more of my dad (& mom), I just need to find the string that fits it all together with Murph🤔
I hope the understanding you seek shines brightly one day soon.
There was a spiritual realm encompassing all in the room with your family as well.
I am grateful that we have had such a sincerely supportive friend in you on this platform. We will miss your posts & presence if you don’t keep it up.
It brings joy to my heart that Amy so loves Sunshine. She knows the feeling is mutual. I’m so glad they are both well and still have each other. Please tell them Hi & someone give that cutie a smooch on the kissy spot… it’s where the lippies begin near the ear.😁😁
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Smooch delivered!
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*Note: Lizard lips are so cute that they are lippies (sometimes wippies). Also, the dragon’s beard is so cute that it is called chin poof… incase clarification is needed. 😀
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