A THOUSAND WINDS

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that flow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grains.
I am the gentle autumn’s rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die.

Author unknown

My father passed away on Saturday, March 10 at 11:19 a.m. My mom and I were at his side as he took his final breaths.

The cause of death was renal failure since he was not given any intravenous solutions other than morphine through a catheter.

The visitation services were held at the funeral home. Many friends and family were in attendance. I met three of my high school classmates I hadn't seen in over 30 years.

At the conclusion of the services, my aunt, mom and I started placing items in dad's casket: his letter carrier "claw" that he used to deliver mail, a can of his Kirin beer (his favorite), word puzzle books and favorite pen, his army medals and rank insignia. The birthday card I read to him on the day of his death was also placed in the casket. All for eternity.

As we drove from the funeral home to the cemetery 45 miles away, I couldn't help but notice how much respect Missourians show for the dead. Cars and trucks would pull off to the side of the road and stop as the funeral procession passed. When we reached the city limits of Macon, the Missouri Highway Patrol escorted us through town to the southern city limits. As the officer moved to the side of the road, he got out of his patrol car and rendered a salute to my father as the hearse passed by.

My father was interred at the Jacksonville Veterans Cemetery with full military honors. The honor guard was from Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri. Many of the family members and friends had never been to a military funeral.

It is hard to put into words how I feel so I am going to let the pictures speak for themselves.

THE LAST MOMENTS

9:17 am: Morphine injection. It pains me to push the button everytime he moans.

9:34 am: Morphine injection.

9:49 am: Bedsheets changed due to my father's bowel movement. They shift him to relieve any pressure on his back.

10:20 am: Dad's eyes crack open. I read him a birthday I card I brought with me.

I used to think I knew it all
Which seems so funny now
In younger days, I thought
I had life figured out somehow.

Yet all along you understand
Far more than I could see
You offered patient guidance
Leaving choices up to me...

You'd cheer for my successes
With deep and honest pride,
And when I made mistakes
You'd always say, "I'm glad you tried."

And though I have still have more to learn
One thing I know is true --
I'm luckier than anyone,
Because my dad is you.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!

10:55 am: I talk with Dr. Nemani. He says to keep pushing the morphine every time he stirs in pain to keep him "comfortable."

11:05 am: Another morphine dose.

11:15 am: The breathing has become shallower. I can feel my father's hand get colder each passing minute. My mother is on his left side stroking his face while talking to him in a soft, soothing voice.

11:19 am: As I hold my father's right hand and as my mother embraces my father, he takes his last breath. There is an eerie silence. My mother looks up at me for just a split second as I mouthed the words, "He's gone." I go outside to the nurses' station to find Dr. Nemani to tell him what happened. I am sobbing my eyes out in the hallway. The nurses try to comfort me. I go back into the room and Dr. Nemani is comforting my mother. My father lies flat on his back on his bed. His mouth agape as if he were screaming. Is this the death face?

Did I kill my father with every push of the button to release the morphine? Is this what they call Palliative Care?

My mother and I gather our personal belongings. I take the suitcases down to the car. We gather dad's effects and place them in a plastic bag. We kiss dad good-bye.

We stop at Taco Bell for a late lunch before driving home.

The long hours, the sleepless nights, the worrying, the long drives to and from are now over for my mother. Driving dad to his other doctor appointments...over. Pacemaker checks...over. Prescription refills...over. Oxygen bottle deliveries...over.

I wish my father did not have to die this soon, but it was his decision and we honored it.

The only regret I have is a question I never asked...Dad, why do stars shine?

DAD'S LAST WORD

March 8, 2007

Mom bought a rose to spruce up the room for dad since he loved roses.

As she was by the bedside, my mother mentioned to dad that she had brought in a rose.

My father opened his eyes and saw the rose and uttered a word to mom.

My mom said to me, "He said,'beautiful.'"

"I believe he was referring to you, mom!"

"Beautiful" would be the last word spoken by my father.

DEATH BE NOT PROUD

My father has had a relapse of his thrombotic thrombocytopenia purpura.

He has refused all medical treatment including dialysis. He has not eaten although he has a protein shake. He doesn't even eat the Jello.

The doctors have put him on morphine for the pain and are administering an IV solution to calm him down.

The nurse informs me that given the current condition of my father, they give him less than a week to live.

It is time to go home and say good-bye to my father before he passes on. My mother is a nervous wreck and so am I.