the surreal death

Today we bury Dad.  At the time of the burial this afternoon the forecast is for mid-40’s with rain.  It won’t be very comfortable and many folks will stay at the church while we are there. 

Cynthia Vold Forde sent an email about all the changes that will be going on now, and the many that I’m sure I won’t expect.  I already know that the trips to Northwood will be in decline, with the irony that over the past year I have gained strong personal relationships with many from the Hood that I did not know before Project McNamara.

And the move to Arizona may be a positive part of the separation process.  It’s almost as if Dad were expediting or smoothing the way by his death.  Were he still alive, our move would create some apprehension, but all that is gone now.  No sudden trips home from a distance.

We were in Arizona when he died.  Kathy called in the morning to let me know he had fallen and had been unresponsive since.  In the afternoon Kevin suggested we do a Hangout with Becky in Solon, so we holed up for a 5 PM video conference.  After a few technical snags, I finally saw Dad lying in bed in his room, Kevin and Kathy just on the side of that screen, Becky on a separate screen on my monitor.  He was lying still.

Perhaps he heard us talking, I don’t know.  They say that dying patients often wait until the family is in attendance before they go.  Could be.

Maybe 15 minutes after we were fully hooked up and discussing his situation, Dad gagged, as if vomiting.  Becky cautioned he should be rolled on his side, and somebody went out for a nurse.  The gagging seemed to go away and David, the nurse, started checking vitals.

After a couple minutes David mentioned that he had a misreading, I believe on Oxygen level, with disparate reports on two different instruments.  As quickly as he said that Kevin said, “He’s turning yellow.”  And no more than 20 seconds later David said,  “I can’t find a heartbeat.”  This event was, to use the NBC phrase of the 70s, “Live and in color.”

He told me years ago that when he lost his arm the doctors were working on him and he suddenly felt himself floating over them, looking down.  And he grabbed something to pull himself back. This time he let go.  

1600 miles away, I could feel it.  His life is over, ours begins anew.  It’s all surreal.