Dying, up close

In media people are portrayed as alert and cognizant right up to the moment they pass, able to give a final message to a loved one. Not so with my father, and I feel his death is more typical of the experience — a disinterest in watching or reading anything, increasingly jumbled speech, a loss of any appetite or thirst, just long periods of sleep. Finally a day or more of near-constant sleep, his heart beating slower and slower, until we turned away for a moment and he was gone. Though really he had been dying in varying degrees for weeks, his bodily performance a far cry from even a couple months before.

It’s been over a month since the funeral but the events leading up to it are still fresh in my mind, a history where my dad still lives, still has advice for me, still has smiles for his friends and family. My grief comes and goes, gradually trending to a melancholy, a deep sigh in my day. In truth I have been grieving these past few years as signs of my father’s end would appear and I would break, if only for a few moments, a release of pressure.

It was good to see all of our friends and family send their condolences and support. It is much appreciated.