I thought it would be a lot harder to write than it was. Not that it was easy, but I didn't cry while writing it.
My Mom read it and approved. It's, like, a page long (in Word). She said she would've written maybe three sentences, so she's glad I wrote it. My parents have always thought I was a gifted writer, so I have no doubt that my Dad would have wanted me to write this final summary of his life on earth now. I'm glad I wrote it, too. I do, after all, have perfectionist tendencies, and wanted to make sure this was perfect. I didn't trust this task to anyone else.
I'll post the link on FB when it's available, which will probably be tomorrow.
So yeah. I keep repeating the words over to myself, the same way I used to repeat, "My Dad is in a nursing home" or "My Dad is in hospice" but it seems even more surreal than anything I've ever faced in my life. So far. "My Dad died." On Friday, August 2, 2024 at about 7:30pm. It sucked. It continues to suck.
I am overcome by an immense feeling of relief that I don't have to worry about him anymore, or worry where I will be when I get "The Call". I truly rejoice in the fact that he is no longer suffering. I'm so very glad that our terrible journey with dementia is over. Dementia has been stealing my Dad from me for so long, as I've documented here, that this step just feels like another smack upside the head. One that doesn't hurt my Dad anymore. I'm glad to never have to go to that nursing home again.
My Dad's last words to me were on Wednesday, July 31. Sometime in the afternoon, I don't know for sure. I was getting ready to leave for a little bit, I don't remember those details. But I gave him a hug and kissed his cheek and looked him right in the eyes -- his eyes were open at the time, or what counted as "open" at the time, but he looked right back at me and I told him I loved him. And he said, "I love you, too." I mean...I had only hoped and prayed that those would be his final words to me, when the time came. I knew then that it was "the time" -- the time for his last words to me, probably the last time he'd look me in the eye (it was). And I don't care what anyone says, he knew it was me. No one has said he didn't know it was me, I'm just saying -- he knew. He might have been in the final stages of dementia and gorked out of his mind on lorazepam and morphine, but he knew it was me. Of this I have absolutely no doubt.
So now, I'm staying a few days at my Mom's house to provide emotional support and help her get some things done. The only difference is that our plans don't involve going to the nursing home to visit Dad. And Mom is a LOT crabbier than usual, but who can blame her?! I used to try to keep things upbeat but now I just settle for not contributing to making them worse.
Oh, well. I'm gonna sign off for now. I don't feel like getting into anything too deep, because I haven't cried really hard today and I'd kinda like to keep it that way. Good night, y'all.
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