The Last Week - Part 2 of 5

As I drove my mother to the nursing home that housed my ailing and dying father, I was grateful for the time with her. Being the last of eight kids it was a rare day to have one-on-one time with my mother. And now having been married and with my own kids, well, time just seems to slip away.

I often tell my wife how lucky she is to have her parents live so close to us. There were so many, many times that I would think of my parents and wish I could just stop by and talk with them. But, 10 hours in the car is a long way to go just to have a chat. So, I'd call... but that wasn't the same.

So, even though the situation was far from pleasant, I still cherished the simple moments with my mother on the drives to and from the nursing home. She is such a strong and independent woman with a wonderful sense of humor. She has piercing and beautiful blue eyes and a laugh that warms my heart.

For the early part of the week, my mother and I, along with one of my sisters who lives nearby, would visit Dad. We'd wipe his brow or hold his hand or talk to him about our days. We'd spend an hour or two with him and then leave, promising to come back the next day.

One night, around 11 p.m., my mother approached my room, crying. She said "Everyday we leave that hospital room expecting Dad to be there. But, one day he won't. I want to spend more time with him tomorrow." I held her in my arms as she cried and I did my best to console her. It is odd to think that a child can offer strength to a parent. After all, we spend our lives turning to them for strength. To have the roles reversed was strange at first, but I soon realized it was a blessing.

I thanked God for allowing me to be there for her during that very vulnerable time. A small gift in an otherwise tough week.

The next day my mother spent over five hours with him, holding his hand, talking to him or simply being with him. My father worshipped my mother. He was always very clear to us children that we came in third... God was always first, our mother was a close second and we dear children were simply third.

My father's health varied from day to day. Sometimes he would be feverish, others not. Some days he would be barely conscious, others more vibrant. My parent's parish priest stopped by to give my father the Annointing of the Sick (which used to be called Last Rites). As Father prayed over him and explained that it was okay for him to leave this planet, it seemed as if my father was unsure as to why the priest was talking to him about such a thing as dying. It occured to my mother and me that perhaps, now less feverish, my father may not know or understand just how serious his situation had become.

The next day we arrived at the nursing home stunned to find my father extremely alert and aware. He was sitting up, his eyes wide open, his speech mostly understandable. It was amazing.

I took this opportunity to do a few important things. I took his hand and I told him I loved him. I told him just how much I had missed him and of all of the times I had wanted to stop by to talk. And how, even in this surreal moment, I was grateful and happy to be spending this moment with him. I also gave him a synopsis of what had occured over the previous weeks such as his fever, his infections, his atrophy and the other challenges facing him. I reminded him of all of the family that had visited him. And I told him that he raised good kids and that we would take care of Mom.

We ended that visit as we had all others. We placed our hands on him and prayed the Our Father, Hail Mary's and Glory Be's. We prayed that Jesus would give my father peace of heart, mind and soul. We prayed that the Holy Spirit would grant him strength to face whatever challenges he was to face. And we prayed, above all things, that God's will be done.

Afterward my mother and I were both encouraged and confused as to my father's health. When we returned to the cabin we checked a list of things to look for that the Hospice people had given my mother earlier. We realized that my father had now attained every item in the list that pertains to the last two weeks of a person's life, including the surge of energy.

The surge to me seems to be a gift from the Almighty, allowing us one final chance to connect with those about to die. To mend past rifts. To seek forgiveness. Or to forgive. To reiterate our love for them and appreciation for them in our lives.

I felt so blessed, blessed beyond words, to have been there to share that last surge with my father.

Christmas was fast approaching and my father would never again reach the level of awareness we shared with him that day.