Tuesday, February 9, 2010


My mind is full of the life process as my father lies in his bed at the nursing home, breathing his last and peacefully sleeping. I know he can hear me, and I talk about silly, inconsequential things much of the time to fill the empty spaces. And sometimes, I reminisce about so much of my earlier life, and the funny little moments that marked our relationship. Does he hear? I think so, so I keep quiet for awhile to give him time to absorb my chatter and to think his own thoughts. I wonder if he remembers when my mother died - also in February some 9 years ago. It was hard then for the two of us to hold her hands and watch her life slowly ebb away.
I've been to visit again this evening, sitting beside him, watching his light breaths, occasionally talking to him, stroking his hand, reflecting once more on how quickly it seems to have come - this finality.
Will I handle my own death as peacefully and acceptingly?

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