“Where’s my father?” I demand. She sees the blaze that’s been simmering behind my eyes all morning.
“I tried to catch you, I was waiting to call you until he got settled,” the nurse said, guiding me away from the empty room.
“Settled? Settled where? He’s not conscious, how hard could it possibly be to get him settled?” The nurse takes me to a waiting area and sits down with me.
“Your father has been moved to the hospice wing,” she says softly, watching my face and trying to gauge a response. “His oxygen saturation is dropping and they’ve put him on a morphine pump. It’s only a matter of hours now.”
“If he’s going to die in a few hours, why didn’t you just leave him where he was? Why did you have to jerk him around? Why is there always someone in our lives all the time jerking us around?” That last question made her frown a bit.
“No one is jerking anyone around. The hospice wing is more comfortable for him and for you. The monitors are kept in a separate room so you don’t have to deal with the beeping, and it’s a more comfortable environment for goodbyes. And, Miss Sharp, this is a time for goodbye.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I?it’s just—”
“I understand,” she replies kindly. “He’s on the third floor in room three-twelve. I’ll walk you there if you want.”
“No, no I can get there. Thank you for all your help. I know you did the best that you could for him. This has been such a long process.” I stand to leave, giving a big sigh to push out all the tension and try to gather some kind of strength to walk down the hall.
“I find it’s easier for folks to let go of this world if the people they love will tell them it is okay,” she mentions helpfully. I nod. Poor Dad. Since the day of his diagnosis, I’ve been dragging him to specialists, forcing him to try experimental treatment, and keeping him alive by my own force of will. The voice of Mark, which seems to have taken up residence in my head, reminds me that sometimes strength isn’t holding on, but letting go.
I make my way to Dad’s new room and walk in tentatively. It is a much homier and calmer set up than the rest of the hospital. The room smells like baked apples, instead of Lysol, and there are no ticks and beeps emanating from everything. The lights are dim and the glow of the numbers on the morphine pump are the only thing that would tell you something other than a nap was going on. It gives me peace to see him so comfortable.
I pull up a chair beside Dad and take his hand. I look at the withered fingers that always seemed so firm and strong, now tapered, weak and textured like rice paper. I kiss his cheek and there is no response. His breathing is shallow, and his eyes don’t move.
“Dad,” I say loudly hoping either he or his soul can hear me through the medicated fog. “Dad, I love you and I miss you, already, so much. But I want you to know some things. I want you to know I’m okay. I’m strong and I’ve been through hell, but I am going to be fine.”
Tears fall down my cheeks as I chokingly open myself to him one last time.
“I’ve met someone, Daddy. The man I told you about before. He’s taught me a lot of amazing things and I’m finally getting my feet on the ground. I know who I am, and I know what to do. I’m going to do some great things in this world, because I’m your daughter and I can handle whatever life gives me. So I want you to know that it’s okay. It’s okay to let go. It’s okay to rest in peace because all the work there was for you is done here. You’ll always be alive in me, and I will always love you. But it’s time, and it’s all right, for you to let me go.”
I put my head down on the bed, allowing the tears to flow over me. His steady breathing never changes but I feel something different in his touch. It’s colder, it’s lighter. Closing my eyes I listen to the air puff through his lips. I remember the many jokes he told and wise things he told me. I remember how terrible he was with tools and everything he ever tried to build turned out lopsided. Mom would laugh at him, but he thought it was good fun. One awkward adolescent day, I told him I felt lopsided too. He said I was perfect.
They were wrong. When someone who you love dies, their life doesn’t pass before their eyes. It passes before yours. I remembered every birthday, every car trip that ended in ice-cream, every school competition and every issue of Lynx written and how he was there, beaming and celebrating with me. He even bought three subscriptions to Lynx so he could give two away to assorted friends each month.
“It’s not bragging if you’re giving them something,” he would say, stuffing the magazine in someone’s hand or mailbox. I watch the years of my life with Dad march by until I’m simply carried away in memories.
“Miss Sharp,” a clear voice says right near my ear. I jolt my head up and realize I’ve been asleep for who knows how long. I turn to see my father lying still, his breathing stopped.
“I fell asleep,” I stammer at the woman. “I was holding his hand and I just put my head down for a moment.”
“You’ve been asleep a few hours, Miss Sharp, and your father has slept away.”
“He’s gone?” I look again and allow myself to grasp the truth. This amazing being who only wanted to love me and be loved by me has left this world in my hands.
The hospice nurse gives me time for a final goodbye and then walks with me into a private area. She opens the DNR and packet we filled out together when Dad was still functioning pretty well. The funeral home and all the plans are inside. She asks me if there is any family I would like her to call. I tell her he was all I had in terms of family except for some distant aunts I would call later.
“Is there someone who can pick you up or drive you home?” she asks.
“I can drive,” I say wiping another tear from my eye. “I can’t believe I slept while he died.”
“That was a mercy to you both,” the nurse replies. “He probably was waiting for you to fall asleep or leave the room or something. He didn’t want to leave in front of you. He loved you.”
“I love him. And there is no need to call, or worry. I’ve been alone for a long time now and I have some supportive folks who will help me with these arrangements. Dad wanted to be cremated and have his ashes poured in the ocean off Grand Island. He proposed to my mother there.”
She helps me sign the proper forms and walks me to the door of the hospital as if I were the patient. I can see she’s worried about letting me go off into the world alone. But alone I am and alone I will stay.