I have been remarkably shielded from death during my life… I hadn’t really lost anybody close to me until a fairly close woman friend of mine died of cancer. We had a nice casual friendship, she often invited me for coffee, and she frequently adopted me, among her other friends, at Christmas time and Thanksgiving, if they weren’t able to go home to their families. At any rate, her death shook me considerably - she was only 45, the same age as I at the time.
Last Friday, my father died. I have often wondered how I would react to the news of my father’s death, and now, after nearly a week, I record the experience here.
First of all, I should mention that my father was definitely not himself the last five years. He seemed terribly resentful about getting old, or perhaps he was depressed. He did not grow old gracefully, he detested the process of getting old, and he dealt with it by drinking too much, and making those around him suffer so he wasn’t suffering alone. The unfortunate effect for me was that, during the past five years, I often departed from my visits with him and my mother feeling angry at him.
I spoke to my sister by telephone tonight, and we talked about our Dad. I admitted that my grieving has been impaired by Dad’s apparent aggression towards us the past five years, and that I was feeling guilty about it. She then admitted that she was feeling the same way, and she told me that she often left my parent’s place feeling angry with him too.
My mother often confided in me, after Dad had gone to bed, that she was having a tough time living with Dad in his last years. One of the things that I always took so much pride in was the fact that my parents, throughout their married life, always laughed a lot with each other, always enjoyed each other’s company. Many of their separated or divorced friends would marvel at the fact that after so many years of marriage, my Mum and Dad appeared to be very contented with each other. It really was a remarkably stable union between them.
I guess the point I am trying to make here is that, although I loved my father dearly, he drove me crazy during the last years of his life, and I think he drove pretty much everyone in our family crazy. When the news of his death came, my mother called with the news at 6am Friday morning, I did not go into apoplectic shock, in fact I took the news rather calmly. I knew Dad had been suffering, and I also know that he was not afraid of death. He often said in his last years that he wished he would just go to sleep one night and not wake up. Although it didn’t happen quite like that, it was close, and his passing came quickly. On Thursday afternoon he was rushed to hospital complaining of a shortness of breath, and by the time my sister got to hospital he was having a real tough time breathing in spite of the oxygen being fed to him. My sister phoned me and told me I’d better make the trip home. She told me that Dad had said goodbye to her (at which point we both started to cry, but only for a moment). then she said I should try to come over in time to say goodbye. I said I would be on the first ferry in the morning.
Thursday evening I tried to call Dad at the hospital. The nurse told me that he was sleeping, so I said that was fine, I’d see him in the morning. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to hang on long enough to see me one last time. I heard that he woke up around 530am, called the nurse, and asked if he could get up. Then he died.
The weekend was spent rallying around my mother. She is a tough woman, but she really had a tough time the first two nights without my Dad at her side. Fortunately, all her extended family was close by, and we all did our best to support her. Actually, the whole experience seems to have pulled our family closer together. We even had some laughs as we remembered Dad in his glory days, and some of the misadventures that he led us through.
All through the weekend, I never really felt that I was grieving for my Dad. I felt more relieved than anything, the whole family agreed that it was a bit more peaceful without him prowling about and growling at us about the slightest things. We were all somewhat glad that his suffering had ended.
Last night was my first night back home in Whistler. I didn’t sleep very well, and my thoughts kept returning to my father. As I was leaving for work this morning, I rounded the corner and came across my neighbor. He said how sorry he was about my Dad, and for the first time I really had to fight back the tears. I headed for my car, got in, and started crying hard. It was the first time in four days that I was finally able to let out my grief.
And it felt good. I said my goodbyes to my wonderful father, and now life continues. I hope Dad is in a happier place now.
