The Last Week - Part 5 of 5

For the past few weeks, every time the phone rang my heart would jump. Could this be THE call?

As Christmas Eve was about to turn into Christmas day, the phone rang, but only once and was quickly answered. I was just about to head to bed when I heard the door open to my mother's bedroom and she exited, crying and said "Peter? Dad died."

Even though we all knew this was inevitable, we didn't see this coming. Not today. My father's fever had dropped. His swelling had dropped. His strong grip had returned. As a matter of fact, he never wanted to let you go. How could he have died today? Are they sure? There are a lot of old people in that nursing home. Are they sure? Are they sure it is my father? My mother's husband? The man I had just kissed a few hours before?

I held my mother and we weeped. She said she was going down to the nursing home and I quickly agreed I would join her. As I went into get dressed I awoke my wife and said "Honey? My father... died." I could barely get the words out. We woke the kids and told them. They were crying and my wife comforted them.

I took it upon myself to call all the family. One by one, from oldest to youngest, I called them and told them the news. Some cried immediately. Some struggled comprehending it. We were all entering unfamiliar territory.

The drive back to the nursing home very early Christmas day was odd. My mother bemoaned the fact that she hadn't gone back to see him. I tried to convince her there was no way she could have known.

When we arrived at the nursing home we were met with my sister and brother-in-law as well as the parish priest. Father said with a smile "if an 81 year old woman can get out of bed this late, then so can I."

We all walked into the darkened nursing home and met with the nurse in charge. She said she went on duty at 11 p.m. and found my father dead when she got to his room around 11:50 p.m. Father has mentioned that he had come by around 2:00 p.m. and that my father was alert, eyes open and in good spirits.

As we walked down the hall to my father's room, I was nervous. My oldest brother had died in 1994 and I remember looking at him in his hospital room. He was so pale and white and gaunt. I wasn't sure what my father would look like and that scared me.

Upon entering the room and approaching my father's body, he too was white and gaunt and cold. It was then I realized just how unimportant a body is without a soul. I looked at my father's body and recognized it, but knew my father was not there. His soul, everything that he was to me, was long gone.

Father said a few prayers and my brother-in-law mentioned how special Christmas Eve was to my father and that, perhaps when we were all praying around the nativity earlier, that my father was with us as well.

We walked back out to the parking lot and into the brisk, cold North Carolina air. We thanked Father for coming out so late and we hugged our family members good bye. On the way back to the cabin my mother and I were both saddened and felt a sense of relief. The burden of the sickness put upon my father was finally over. His pain was gone. His suffering was over. His soul released.

The following day my sister mentioned something that I can only imagine is true. At some point on Christmas Eve, an angel appeared to my father and said simply, "C'mon Charlie, it's time to go."

Why Christmas Eve?

My Mother and I along with my nephew

praying over my sister and her husband.

We think it is a blessing. A gift given by God to my father in honor of what my father had instituted in our family. The holiness he treated Christmas Eve. The traditions that he had put in place. For all of the souls he had touched. For all of the people my father had prayed over at the nativity scene. For the amount of respect and love and honor and glory my father had offered up to God his entire life.

We feel that taking my father on Christmas Eve was a gift. A blessing. Just one of a hundred life altering, memorable and holy blessings I received spending time with my mother, my family and especially my father... holding his hand, kissing him, praying with him and for him, loving him and letting him know it was okay to go.

Seven days full of blessings during the last week of my father's life.

The Last Week - Part 4 of 5

Christmas Eve in the Bauer family had evolved into a very special and holy holiday. My father had developed an elaborate and touching Christmas Eve celebration. It included readings from the Bible, the blessing of the Christmas tree, lighting candles at the foot of the Nativity Scene as each person prayed and was prayed over. It included Christmas Carols and ended with everyone standing in a circle and, one by one, going around and wishing each other a Merry Christmas with a great, big hug

It was a special night. A holy night. A memorable night.

I loved kneeling at the Nativity Scene, lighting the candle and feeling the hands of my parents on my shoulders and head as they prayed over me. Like sneaking into their bed and laying between them as a child, I again felt completely loved and completely safe.

My Dad and Mom praying at

the Nativity Scene, circa 1987

Now, here in North Carolina, Christmas was only days away. On the next visit to see my father I read the daily missal from the day's Mass and my wife and daughter sang Christmas Carols, their beautiful voices echoing down the halls of the nursing home.

The other patients in the nursing home enjoyed the singing and we received a lot of thanks. And my father seemed at peace, listening to their singing and to the Bible verses. Again, I thanked my father for showing me how to be a husband and father. For teaching me how to interact with kids on their level. And most of all for giving me the gift of his faith, which has been enlightened in me and guides me on my path. We again prayed and asked for Jesus' peace, the Holy Spirit's strength and the will of God to be done.

The next day was Christmas Eve. We went early that morning to visit my father because the day was quickly filling up with events surrounding the holiday. My children each brought with them verses from the Bible they had found. My daughter read from Psalms (Psalm 71 - Humble Prayer in Time of Old Age) about giving strength to the aged and my son read from Romans (1:1-5) about how facing our obstacles gives us hope in the Holy Spirit. We again read the readings from the Christmas Eve Mass, which we were to attend later that day. We again all sang Christmas Carols.

As we sung, I leaned down to my father's ear and told him to imagine himself celebrating Christmas Eve with us in the traditions he had started. I told him to imagine himself blessing the tree, praying at the Nativity, greeting each family member with a hug as he smiled and told them "Merry Christmas." I wanted him, if only for a brief moment, to escape his feeble body and place himself among his family that loved him on one of his favorite holy days.

It was a wonderful time with him that day. We all hugged him and kissed him and told him we would see him again first thing Christmas morning.

Later that night we all attended Christmas Mass and then went over to my sister's house to engage in the Bauer Christmas Eve tradition started by my father decades earlier. We blessed the tree. We prayed at the nativity. With my father not there, I joined my mother in placing our hands over those kneeling, praying for them as my father would had he been there. We all then hugged each other and wished each other a Merry Christmas.

After some more food and dessert we headed back to the cabin where we originally decided to open one present. One present soon turned into all of them and we soon found ourselves sitting and laughing among the smoldering remains of ripped Christmas wrapping.

We all went bed, full and happy.

And then, at 11:51 p.m., the phone rang.

The Last Week - Part 3 of 5

My father is an amazingly patient man. Growing up I watched my father work on a lot of projects such as home fix-its or car engine repair or fixing my bike chain. No matter how difficult or frustrating the task, my father never got angry. One time I said "If I were you, I'd be ticked off by now." He said "Why, it's an inanimate object? It doesn't have any feelings against me. If the parts aren't going together, then it's because I'm doing something wrong."

I still struggle achieving the same level of patience he seemed to master.

That same patience was evident when we visited my father. When he was able to speak we would always ask how he was doing. His response was always a simple "I'm okay" or "I'm fine." Fine? Okay? You're immobilized and shaking due to years of Parkinsons, moving your legs inflicts serious pain, you have bed sores, you can't swallow, your stomach is barely processing the food being pumped into it, you've got a serious infection, you have a sporadic fever, you can barely keep your eyes open and you struggle formulating even the simplest of words... and you're okay?

I marveled at his demeanor, at his approach to life. He never complained. Sure, growing up he'd rant about the world with catch phrases like "mark my words!" or yell at us about not cleaning our room, but when it came to his own struggles or his own suffering, he never complained. He simply accepted the challenge and replied, "I'm okay."

My mother and I closely monitored my father's breathing and the strength of his grip. Prior to the surge of energy, his grip was strong. Today it was weaker. His eyes were half-closed. He could only verbalize a few words.

With Christmas approaching I called my wife and asked her to bring the kids up to North Carolina to spend Christmas with my mother. I couldn't imagine her spending the holiday in that cabin alone. It was my brother who, during a previous visit, put up the Christmas tree and lights around the house. And, sure, my sister who lives nearby would gladly have my mother over for the Bauer Christmas Eve celebration instituted by my father and what has become family tradition.

But waking up on Christmas day alone? With her husband suffering a few miles down the road? Well, I couldn't accept that. So, my wife packed and hit the road. I couldn't wait for her to arrive.

The presence of my children added a pleasant youthfulness to the house. As soon as they arrived we all headed up to the nursing home to see my father. My kids were nervous, my wife cautious, but they knew they had to put aside their own feelings or fears and support my parents during this extremely difficult time.

My mother held my father's hand and my family all said "Hi." My Dad ackowledged their presence and we all prayed over him. Afterwards my children struggled with seeing their grandfather in such a devastating condition. There were many tears in the car before heading back to the cabin. Especially my own. Having been keeping up my strength in front of my mother all this time, when I was finally alone with my family I was able to drop my defenses and relied on my wife as I sobbed in her arms.

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.