Good Grief Part Two: Saying Goodbye to My Dad

When we were getting ready to take my dad to the nursing home tI felt like the betrayal of taking a beloved dying dog to the dog pound to be euthanized. I know that the comparison seems callous, unless you love animals the way I do. I have had to have two dogs put to sleep, and went with my daughter to have one of her's put to sleep. Her husband couldn't do it. I couldn't imagine not being with them when they were euthanized. It was one of the most heartbreaking and painful experiences that I have ever had. I digress.

Ironically the final time that my father left his house the experience included the escape of his dog. His dog was notorious for running the first chance that he would get. He had become a little more subdued over the last year and the thought didn't cross our minds that he would try it when we made the last trip out of the door.

My dad, stepmom, brother-in-law and his buddy that helped load all of my dad's belongings that he would need into the truck were just waiting for me and my stepsister to come out to the cars. As we went to shut the door, Bo made a mad dash past us through the yard. I looked at my stepsister and she looked at me as we were both stood rooted in horror.

He flew past us, ears flying wildly behind him. He manically weaved past the vehicles as neighbor's tried to stop him. I flew out to my car and chased after him. He continued happily stopping to lift his leg in every yard. Many times you can coax him into a vehicle and that wasn't working even for well meaning neighbors. I made chase, screaming at him with my car door open. The rest of the posse sat transfixed in the driveway.

Finally before he made it to the busy highway at the mouth of the subdivision, I pulled into the last driveway. I flew as fast as my elderly legs could carry me into to the backyard. I must've surprised him as he was lifting his leg by the patio. I screamed at him to sit and snatched him up and huffed and puffed back to the car. We got him back into their house and continued on to the nursing home. Another tragedy was averted.

We were so relieved to get the dog rescued that it at least dulled the doomsday feeling of taking Shannon to the nursing home. The actual memory of the move into the room has been rather dulled in my mind. It was so painful that I don't remember too much about it. I was disappointed that he had to share a room with another patient. The roommate's name was Joe. He had the window side and his side had encroached onto my dad's side. He was pleasant enough but I still didn't like it, considering the astronomical cost of keeping him in the nursing home. We also lied to him and told him that he would only be there until he was able to build his strength up. We also let him think that he was in a hospital. He was disoriented and homesick in the beginning. I went to see him nearly every day. He would be sitting in a wheelchair when I came to see him and I would take him for walks which he seemed to enjoy. It was heartbreaking for all of us, most of all for my stepmom. She was wracked with guilt. I told her repeatedly that she went way beyond what anyone else could have done. She was killing herself trying to take care of him. Her health was failing. She has very bad osteoarthritis and has had a couple of heart attacks, as well as two knee replacements. Her shoulders need to be replaced and she is in excruciating pain.

I went in to visit one afternoon and he was in bed. He looked really bad and Joe said that he had been in bed all day. His recliner that he usually slept in was removed. He was now too weak to sit in a wheelchair and had developed bed sores. That was the last time that he ever got out of bed. I was relieved for him, in spite of the sadness, because he looked so miserable and uncomfortable sitting in the wheelchair. They started feeding him pureed food in bed instead of down in the cafeteria where he looked so lost, homesick and lonely.

We had him put into hospice. They came to visit and care for him along with the regular care that he received from the nursing home. This also included visits from a minister. My dad did not attend church although he had many years previously. I was glad that he was being visited by a minister. One of my regrets was that I didn't pray with him at our visits. I was afraid that I could not maintain my composure. We always prayed at mealtimes before he got so bad mentally. I guess since I didn't eat with him anymore it was just something that I didn't do.

Joe ended up being a blessing. He was concerned about Shannon and told us that he was not complaining but that he was concerned because Shannon had been coughing all night. He was adamant that it didn't bother his sleeping. He was just worried about him. It was obvious that his lungs were beginning to slowly fill up.

I called my friend who now lives in Oregon and told her that I went to visit one day and that he seemed so much better. He was sitting up, talking and was perky. She said, "Shana you know what that means don't you?"

Her father had passed away two years previously. I was with her the day that he died. He rallied around for about a week and then passed away with her at his side. She was gentle in her preparation. She was one of the first people that I called when he died.

On one of our visits my stepmom and I eyed each other incredulously as he talked with great fervor. He was telling us all about being on a lake on a boat or ship. He was with a bunch of men. They were all having a great time, catching fish and drinking beer. We would ask him if he saw it on television. He would tell us yes. Then we asked him if he dreamed it, yes, he answered again. Finally we asked him if it happened, yes, again. Whatever the truth was, he was euphoric. He wasn't feeling any pain and it was comical to hear him talk about it. That was one of the last times that he was so expressive and talkative.

I will write more on the final days in part three. This is extremely difficult and emotional for me.