Homecoming, Departures

Dad came home today. He's resting comfortably in his own bed, with his wife nearby, and his dog in his lap. He's much more relaxed than he was in the hospital, and I don't blame him one bit.

I got up early this morning, showered up quickly, and gathered up my stuff so that I could spend time with Dad while Mom got her antibiotic shot (that pesky pneumonia is still giving her fits) and finished tying up things with the Hospice folks. She made sure the oxygen tanks showed up, called everyone involved, and generally prepared for Dad's return. We figured we had covered all the bases, and if all went well, Dad was due to leave the hospital at around 3pm (6pm is what I guessed would be the final result...I've never known these things to happen on time.)

There was a lot of quiet time with Dad today. He seemed eager to get home, and asked more than once what time it was. I happily reassured him that we had finished almost everything, and that he'd be home soon. He had more fluid drained from his lungs so that he'd be more comfortable at home. My brother stopped in to see how Dad was doing. The nurses removed his PIC line (nutritional IV) and his other intravenous lines, and I spoke with the nurse regarding various procedures.

Ruth was Dad's nurse during the day, and let me tell you, she was fabulous. She was always great with Dad, and I'll never be able to thank her and the other folks at EGH enough. I always felt that they worked really hard for Dad and cared for him. Thanks, folks!

Then there was a tiny little snag. It seems that we needed two witness to sign a particular form...two folks who knew Dad, but weren't related to him, and weren't employees of the hospital. HOLY CRAP!!! Most of the folks Dad hung out with were family members. The guy who sold him the scooter didn't count, so we were scrambling to find folks to sign this one paper so that Dad could ride in the ambulance and come home.

Mom (who has a hard time asking ANYONE for help) went next door to talk to the fabulous Bree, a stay-at-home mom who knows Dad fairly well. She dropped what she was doing, scooped up her adorable 2yrold daughter and hustled up to the hospital. Next, Mom called the family Pastor, who likewise, jumped in whatever car he drives, probably hollered "YEEEEEEE-HAAAAAWWWWWWW!" and showed up at the hospital mere minutes later. They signed the paper, I signed the paper, and all was well with the world again. Again, thanks are in order.

The Pastor stayed a bit longer to chat with Dad. He quietly let Dad know that he'll be there if needed, and asked if there was anything Dad wanted him to pray for.

There was a moment of silence before I heard him quietly say, "Pray for Mary."

I don't recall many times in my life when I heard emotion touch my father's voice. All that mushy stuff just wasn't comfortable for him, and he was fine to just smile and nod, rather than bare his heart to the world like his oldest son would probably do. And yet, it was there. In what are probably his final days, he's thinking of her...of us. That's Dad.

We readied him for the trip after that, and as 3pm got closer and closer, it became clear that they weren't playing around! He really was going to leave the hospital on time! This left me with a bit of a predicament...I had to find a way to liberate the bedpan. Oh, yes, you know the bedpan of which I speak. That stainless steel vessel of doom that proved the depth of my ignorance...yes, THAT bedpan.

As much as it had embarrassed me, I had gotten rather close to that bedpan. We have a much better relationship now, and I felt that it was an important part of Dad's whole experience. Too important, in fact, to be left behind. So what's a guy to do? I mean...do I clean it out, dry it off, tie it up in a plastic bag, wrap it up in my sweatshirt, and then stuff it into a bigger plastic bag so that I can walk off with it? Me? I'd never dream of such a thing.

Yeah...and monkeys'll fly out of my butt.

The bedpan is now resting comfortably in Dad's bathroom. There it will stay until he no longer needs it. Afterwards, I'm sure it will somehow find its way to Katy.

3pm showed up, and so did the ambulance guys, Rob and Josh. They were polite, efficient, and ready to roll, baby. They carefully slid Dad, waffle mattress and all onto their gurney, and we were off. I did take a moment to pass off a certain bundle to Aunt Linda before climbing into the ambulance with Dad. "Take care of this...it's important." Aunt Linda nodded solemnly, and I followed Dad to his ride.

After passing the house, turning around, and then finding it again, Rob and Josh rolled into the driveway. We brought them inside to see where Dad would be placed, and they promptly ruled out the gurney and the wheelchair. "We'll just have to carry him up. Don't worry, we do this all the time." You know what? The were right. Dad was in his own bed before I could say Jiminy Cricket. There was some discussion with Amy, the Hospice nurse, while we also thanked Rob and Josh for bringing Dad safely home, followed by some scrambling for a bedpan (Dad wasted no time requesting it once he got home) and then we all breathed a huge sigh of relief. Dad's home, at long last. He has three huge oxygen tanks at the foot of his bed, and a host of supplies, medicines, and small machines nearby, but I can see how relieved he is to be back in his own home again.

Since he's been home, he's actually drank a bit of Coca Cola, as well as a bit of water. He's been able to pet his dog Rico any time he wants. And he even talked to his grandson in Katy, my son Connor. That got me, folks. Dad was happily telling Connor that he loves him while Connor chattered away on the other end. Hearing that love in my Dad's voice, a voice unaccustomed to holding that kind of tone, that moved me.

The only other thing I want to mention is something you'd probably see in any MadeForTVMovie. I had some alone time with Dad, and I wanted to tell him something I always felt that he knew, but I seldom said it to him aloud.

"Dad, I just wanted you to know that I'm proud to be your son."

"Yeah...well, I'm proud to have you."

I don't need much from my Dad. He and Mom molded me to be pretty independent, and I'm not a guy who spent his whole life seeking Dad's approval. Honestly, I always felt that I already had it. But a little confirmation at a time like this is extremely meaningful. Dad's a man of few words, and he invested more meaning in those seven than most could express in a 10 page speech. I'm OK with that.

I leave tomorrow morning, knowing that I will probably never see my father alive again. For many, that would be a horrible tragedy, but it's not like that for me. This past week has been a good one for us as father and son, a rare and valuable gift. I'll treasure this time for the rest of my life, and I can sleep at night knowing that I showed Dad how much I love him by being here during these final days. I've also felt his love for me, and feel that he'll always be with me, no matter where I go or what I do.

And by the way, there's always that crazy chance that his sheer toughness will reassert itself, he could go into remission and he'll last for months. That would be just like him, that freakin' tough old coot. I'll keep you posted. In any case, don't waste time where your loved ones are concerned. Tell them you love them every day. You'll feel better...I promise.