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Thursday, January 23, 2003 |
My father died this evening around 5:30
Everyone's kind and thoughful words have been greatly appreciated.
8:49:38 PM 
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It's 11:10 AM. My father's blood pressure began to drop early this morning, and at 9:30 his nurse called me at work to tell me that in all likelihood he had only a few hours left. I cannot discern any change from last night, but he is apparently tiring. My mother now seems to accept what is happening. I am grateful for the last three days, as difficult as they have been. My father was not in pain, not even aware of what was happening. It's much better to come upon this thing slowly, to understand the enormity gradually.
Any death is untimely, but I can be thankful that my father lived long enough to see his grandson, and to see his own son become reasonably successful and happy. Just ten months ago I would have thought that such things were said as a palliative; not that I have a son, I know that these are not minor considerations. Not that I ever intend to die (right now, scientists are working on it) and I am looking forward to AD 2100, but if Gabe pulls off the whole happy-adult thing, and inflicts another cranky descendant of Julius Anders on the world, sticking around just long enough to see all of that would be alright.
8:47:42 PM
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To prove that my priorities are totally out-of-whack, I feel much better now that My So called Lesbian Life added a hyphen in the proper place. It was really bugging me.
6:49:24 AM
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When I was in college 15 years ago, I was an alternative type. I was proud that I sought out new, cutting edge music. Music that others never even knew existed. Today, I was at a department store trying on a suit (both of my black suits are pre-marriage, and thus pre-surplus poundage) and I heard one of my favorite college songs on the loudspeakers.
I AM SO OLD.
6:42:50 AM
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It is 5:30 PM Wed. and my father is still breathing. It is something of a surprise to everyone, though it doesn't change the prognosis at all. My father always was pigheaded, and it's nice to see him staying in character. The subtitle of one weblog I read recently (sorry, can't remember which one) was something like "Each day is one more chance to stick it the man"; too bad no one would let me put that on his tombstone--he'd love it.
My mother is still hopeful that he will partially recover. I am hoping that this belief is just her way of holding what has happened at arms-length until she can adjust. If so, then this extended leave-taking might be a blessing. I am exhausted, but I'm glad that some daylight has been put between the major decisions. Now the bad stuff is only coming one at a time.
6:41:34 AM
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© Copyright 2003 Douglas Anders.
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