It is difficult to write about how one will face their own death when it weighs heavily on my mind lately. Last year my father became ill and in March had to have a serious surgery. We thought that it would ease his pain and it did for a few weeks. Then the pain returned with no explanation. In August my mother woke me up one morning to tell me that my father had again returned to the ER and that the nurse told her it was serious enough for the kids to be informed and to come home. During my eight hour drive all I could think about was that I was not ready to lose my father. How does one prepare for such an event is all I could think about during the drive.
Over the years my father has had health issue pertaining to his heart. A few times we have “almost lost him” and I have spent countless days and nights with him hanging out at the hospital. Early on when he had these issues we would talk about dying and what plans would need to be made. He would share which sibling of mine he wanted to take care of which things. He told me he trusted me to make sure that these things were done for him. Even down to the last year when he asked me to be the person to turn off the machines if it was necessary.
When I look back on these conversations, I realize that both my father and I were young during these discussions. It seemed easy to talk about these things when you are young and not going to die, at least in that moment. It is when you face death three times in a year that it becomes harder to say what you want. My father died in surgery last October. The doctor’s told us he would likely die a slow and painful death without the surgery and with the surgery he might not pull through it. The talks I had with my father so many years ago were nonexistent now. I was privileged to have a few moments alone with him before they took him down. He was emotional