April 5/00
I leave tomorrow on a speaking tour. So I had lots to do, including dropping Oreo off at the kennel. On the way there I glanced at her as she sat in the back seat. On her face she had the look: 'I'm just happy to be riding in the car going anywhere with my mum'...and I was taking her to board at the kennel. Ugh.

But then I arrived at dad's; I smiled at him, gave him a kiss, he looked at me and actually smiled - for the first time in months! I couldn't believe it! It lasted maybe 3 seconds but for those few seconds I felt I had pulled him back from the brink. My spirits were truly lifted. He was actually quite alert, looking around. I really could not get his attention again, but that was OK. For once I felt like I had made a difference.

I had left a message for dad's doctor last week regarding his allergies. Lately his eyes have been red, his nose running and since he has a history of allergies, I thought that a no-doze antihistamine may help. Wrong. His doc told me that even a fraction of a no-doze pill would cause dad to sleep for 24 hours. I knew seniors were drug sensitive but not to this degree. So we'll just have to use eye wash and drops I guess.

Last Saturday night I had dinner at Wahid's, my dad's companion. His wife asked me to come and I had a lovely evening. Their son Wasid is just a beautiful boy. I viewed their wedding pictures. Wahid met his to-be wife Ruhina one week before the wedding, held in Pakistan where she was living. Their lives are so different than mine but in many ways we share the same values. This family is so caring; I am lucky that I have Wahid and his brother Kabir as companions for my father. I could not find more compassionate people. They certainly make my life easier.

April 11/00
I returned home from my trip to find an outbrak of a respiratory bug in dad's nursing home. Families are being encouraged to keep the residents on their own floors; most residents are eating there as well. In times like these I am glad we have a private room for dad; it cuts down on his exposure to viruses. After my visit with dad, I left Oreo with Wahid and went down to a family council meeting. About half an hour later Wahid knocked; he was leaving and still had Oreo. I had forgotten about her, poor kid! So she joined us in the meeting, to the delight of the families.

April 14/00
Bad news today; it looks as if dad has come down with the bug. He has become very congested; Wahid put him to bed after lunch. He did not eat...not a good sign. I dropped in after my last meeting; dad was still sleeping and his breathing sounded terrible,very congested. Oh boy...

April 16/00
I thought dad was going to die tonight.

I had been in constant touch with Wahid and Lincoln Place. Dad remained ill and uninterested in eating. I walked over about noon with Oreo. As I walked onto the floor, the charge nurse was calling me to come over...things were not looking good. My heart choked. I walked into dad's room and found him on oxygen, in a coma like state. He was not eating or drinking; unresponsive to anything or anyone. I sat down by his bed and the tears welled up. Once again we faced the end together and once again I was powerless to ease his suffering.

I started to speak with him about anything, so he would know he was not alone. Staff drifted in and out. The charge nurse came in; she told me dad could go tonight. I was stunned; how could this happen so quickly? I picked up my bible and started to read the psalms but was crying too much and kept having to stop to wipe my eyes and nose. At one point dad opened his eyes; I got up to hug him and he actually raised up his arm and put it around me. He has not done that for a year. I cried even harder although I tried so hard not to. I cry as I write this.

The night staff arrived. The charge nurse Ashya came in and told me there was a lady down the hall named Rose who was more critical than dad - her breathing indicated that she would not last long. Apparently her sons had just left; they could not take it any more. When I questioned Ashya about the changes in breathing, hoping to better understand the dying process, she asked if I wanted to see Rose. I said yes; by the time we had made it to her room, Rose had died. A very weird experience for me at this point.

I decided to call my sister Debbie in London. She was prepared to come to Toronto but kept asking if I was sure that dad was going to die. I told her what Mercie had told me, that it didn't look good. She finally decided to come down...I was glad. I did not want to go through this alone. My younger sister Jenny and her husband came by for about half an hour but as usual I knew I would be alone most of the time.

As the hours passed dad looked worse and worse. His breathing would alternate between a loud, rasp to being virtually inaudible. I decided to take Oreo home about 3 PM and managed to arrange for her to be fed and walked later on.

I returned to dad's; people were so kind, offering support and comfort. I brought a bag with my slippers, book, candle and my bible. I started to read to dad, again so he would know I was there. I kept breaking out in tears as I read the psalms that I remembered learning in my childhood. At dinner time the charge nurse Ashya kept trying to get me to eat. I had no appetite, felt like I was in a daze. Dad kept getting worse; would Debbie arrive in time?

Debbie arrived about 7 PM. Her husband Larry drove her down. She was shocked at dad's appearance; she had not seen him for over a year. So we sat down together and talked to dad...about our childhood, growing up, our family experiences. I became so tired. We decided to stay the night with dad as we wanted to be there if he passed away. It would kill me if he died alone in the night.

The night shift staff brought us some futons to put on the floor so we could get some sleep. The hours passed; about 11 PM I was so worried that I asked for the phone number of the nursing home pastor. I wanted dad blessed before he died. She was not able to drive into the city. I then called the minister at our family church. Voice mail; no emergency number. I then called our present church where dad and I attend senior services; again voice mail and no emergency number. I was very distressed but I still had one card to play. So I played it - I called Lincoln Place's rabbi, Mark. He was rather surprised that I called to ask him to bless my protestant father. I explained the situation and after some hesitation he agreed to come.

He arrived about 30 minutes later. He spoke briefly to us, then said he would return shortly with 'his things'. Debbie and I looked at each other and had to grin...what would our father think if he knew he was going to leave this world with a Jewish confession?? I didn't know what those 'things' might be but assumed some robes or something and a book. Well, it took him another half an hour to come back; he had on his scull cap and carried a book. Mark explained that he would read dad a Jewish confession but would leave out the last sentence since it was specifically for Jews. And off he went - reading very loudly at a real clip - as rabbis do in the temple. I looked at Deb and my face must have said: my god what have we done? Dad was looking around, somewhat startled as were we.

When the confession ended, Mark stayed and talked to Deb and I about the end of life...how we are really all the same at this point... comforting. I then suggested to Debbie that she lie down as she had not had much sleep the night before (due to a party next door). I settled in a chair beside dad and whenever he stirred or seemed to get anxious I would talk quietly to him. What a long, loud night! I am amazed anyone can sleep here at all! The call bells went off all night long; apparently 2 men down the hall do it constantly. The night staff were kind to me; they stopped by from time to time to see if we needed anything. About 5 AM I asked them to come in to change and help reposition dad. At 6 dad woke up and actually started looking around. I gave him some juice, then told Deb I was going to go home for a few hours sleep. When I got home I walked Oreo then settled down for 2 hours after which I could not sleep.

April 16/00
I took Oreo back to dad's about 10:00 AM to pick Debbie up and bring her back her for a shower and some breakfast. By then I had heard from our minister who said she could come by at 1: 30 to bless dad. I also asked her if we could talk about other arrangements. Meanwhile dad's accountant happened to call; he came over with dad's tax return for me to sign and we updated him. Then back to the nursing home where we met up with our minister Dr. Hunnysett. She blessed dad; she told him how much she admired and respected his commitment to the church. He seemed to be aware of her and what she was saying. I became concerned that he might get anxious about all these confessions and blessings so I quietly told dad that since it did not look like we would make the Easter service on Thursday that instead the church had come to him. I told him how much Dr. Hunnysett thought of him and the fact that we attended church together when we could - anything to try allay any fear, if indeed he was feeling any.

Since Wahid was with dad, Deb and I went downstairs to meet privately with Dr. Hunnysett. She was terrific - comforting and practical at the same time. She told me what a fabulous job I had done with dad; she admitted she would get teary when she saw us sitting in the front row of the church together, singing - or crying as too often did in church with my dad.

Since none of us knew when dad would die, she suggested a memorial service after the cremation to give the rest of the family a chance to arrive. Debbie and I agreed with this. She asked us about dad's life so she could speak about him; I must confess she asked questions that I could not answer...about his childhood, hobbies as a young man and so on. I told her I would call my uncle to see if he could fill in some of the gaps. As we were chatting I looked up to see the rabbi Mark coming over. He greeted us and asked how dad was; at this point we had not told the minister about our rabbinical blessing! When I explained that dad seemed to be doing a little better, Mark grinned and said: "Shows you what the Jewish blessing will do" as he looked right at Dr. Hunnysett. We all cracked up, including our minister who remarked that they should look into an inter-denominational approach for the residents! The laughter eased our hurt for a few moments but I know 'our rabbi story' will be told many times after dad dies.

Debbie and I stayed with dad after dinner till quite late. Really no change; we took turns talking to him and had a few laughs as we remembered our childhood, how we shared a room together, how mean I was to her, threatening to flush her turtles down the toilet, reading her school compositions out loud with great howls of laughter...maybe our obvious love for each other and for dad helped him. I don't know.

April 17/00
Since dad seemed to be holding his own, we decided to call the funeral home and start making the inevitable arrangements. We met with a (strange) gentleman at 11 this morning to review our options. Dr Hunnysett told us what to expect and what to ask so the process was quite straightforward. However I had to excuse myself to take a pill for a blazing migraine. All I have to do is call them when the time has come. The funeral service for our mother was held in this same funeral home. When we arrived the memories came back; I was anxious to leave.

We went back to dad's; he has started to take some thickened juice and applesauce. If we can get an Insure into him that's all he really needs. Oreo needed a walk so we took her out, back to dad's then home for some dinner, and back to dad's. No change, except that he is less alert. I emailed my brother and other sister an update on dad's condition.

April 18/00
I knew dad's doctor would be by today so we timed our arrival to meet with him. He feels that dad probably had another small stroke and that he could come back as he has in the past. There is no way of knowing for sure. The doctor would not give us any prognosis. He suggested we keep dad in bed over the weekend and see how things go. Not much help but at least not all doom and gloom. We left Wahid with dad and I drove Debbie to the train station for her train back to London. She told me very strongly that since we did not know how long this would go on for, that I should not spend every waking moment with dad, that I should live my life as best as possible. Easy for her to say when she is not here.

On the way back to dad's I stopped to buy him some applesauce in case he would eat it, then arrived as Wahid was leaving. I sat with dad, tried to get him to take a little juice at least which he did. Sitting there I felt lonely and realized how much easier it is to care for someone who is dying if you have family around you. Once again, though, I am on my own.

April 19, 20/00
I dropped in and out, called to check on dad as I attempted to catch up on my work and scheduled meetings. I think I am coping quite well, mainly because I know dad must die and that perhaps the time has really come for him. His reps are up and down according to the staff; he does eat and take some juice.

April 21/00
I was out of town much of yesterday at a meeting but checked in with Wahid. Not much change. When I went over this morning, however, I noticed a change. Dad's breathing is more difficult; his reps are up to 46. He does not open his eyes at all, although I can see some eye movement. He does not respond at all. But yet he ate some breakfast which really baffles the staff.

When I spoke with the nurse, she looked at me and said that she hoped she was not speaking out of turn but that it was clear dad was dying. I told her I knew and asked her how long he had. She felt maybe 2 days; I don't think even that. She told me his doctor was coming this evening. I asked if he would see dad; she checked and said probably not. I became incensed; here my father was dying and the doctor 'probably would not see him'. I then asked about increasing dad's oxygen level to see if we could ease his breathing. She said she needed a doctor's order to do so. I replied that the doctor had better see my dad or else. She came back into dad's room to explain how the oxygen system worked; she then looked at me and asked if I knew what she was saying. I did; when she had left the room I turned up dad's oxygen a little. She promised that the doctor would check in on dad. Wahid arrived so I have come back home to finish this entry. Char my standoff cat is in my lap, a nice change. Wahid leaves at 5:30; I will go back after that to sit with dad. Hopefully I will be there when the doctor does his rounds.

It's 6 PM; the doctor just called me. He has just seen dad and admits dad is fading. No kidding. He said dad would probably not last a week. I said that I felt a week was optimistic and he agreed. It could take an hour... or days, no way to tell he said. I asked about turning up dad's oxygen. The doctor said his oxygen levels were fine; the panting is just dad fading. I asked about his mouth as I had seen sores inside it this afternoon. He agreed that mouth care had to be picked up. I asked for details so I could be sure I could do it. They will prepare a glycerin solution to be swabbed inside the mouth every few hours. I'll feed the animals and myself and go to sit with dad.

It's about 10 PM; I spent time with dad tonight, reading to him, talking to him. I wanted to hold his hand but he seemed to pull it away. I helped the staff wash and reposition him on his side; he seemed more comfortable that way. It is such a helpless feeling, watching someone die. How long will it take? I hope not days....I don't know whether I could take it. I have cried so much I feel sick sometimes.

Somebody sent me this. It seems appropriate to post it here.

HANG ON TO EACH OTHER

Too often we feel alone. But there is always someone ready to take our hand. There is a beautiful story of an overworked nurse who escorted a tired, young man to her patient's bedside. Leaning over and speaking loudly to the elderly patient, she said, "Your son is here."

With great effort, his unfocussed eyes opened, then flickered shut again. The young man squeezed the aged hand in his and sat beside the bed. Throughout the night he sat there, holding the old man's hand and whispering words of comfort.

By morning's light, the patient had died. In moments, hospital staff swarmed into the room to turn off machines and remove needles. The nurse stepped over to the young man's side and began to offer sympathy, but he interrupted her. "Who was that man?" he asked.

The startled nurse replied, "I thought he was your father!"

"No, he was not my father," he answered. "I never saw him before in my life."

"Then, why didn't you say something when I took you to him?"

"I realized he needed his son and his son wasn't here," the man explained. "And since he was too sick to recognize that I was not his son, I knew he needed me."

Mother Teresa used to remind us that nobody should have to die alone. Likewise, nobody should have to grieve alone or cry alone either. Or laugh alone or celebrate alone.

We are made to travel life's journey hand in hand. There is someone ready to grasp your hand today. And someone hoping you will take theirs.

April 23/00
It's Sunday morning, an absolutely beautiful Easter Sunday. I wish dad could have enjoyed it. By the time I arrived to see him he had been washed; he was on his back, his breathing like panting. I spoke to him as I could see he was conscious but there was no reponse. I put a cool towel on his head because he felt so warm to me. He does not have a fever; his temperature is 36.6.

I thickened some juice which he allowed me to put in his mouth but most of it ran out the side. He moves his arm and leg occasionally. The doctor says he is comfortable but I almost go nuts wondering if he suffering either physically, emotionally or spiritually. I sat and watched him, wondering what he could hear or sense. I know that the ability to hear is one of the last things to go but somehow this morning I had a tough time talking to dad.

I want to know more about the dying process to help both dad and me. Since the doctor is offhand about it, I did a search and finally found a Florida hospice page Preparing for Approaching Death that answered most of my questions and helped ease my pain. Debbie called when I was at dad's, asking for an update.

I should work; I don't feel like it. I should run; I don't feel like it. I don't feel like doing anything. My head aches, my heart aches.

It's 5 PM; I have just returned from dad's. He is much worse. His colour has changed drastically; I was warned about seeing black around his eyes, his nails. His legs are turning purple as the blood flow is reduced. His doctor fortunately is on call this weekend and came to see dad about 3. He was quite shocked at dad's condition. Yesterday his lungs were quite clear; today they are full. I told him I was distressed at dad's breathing and asked about using an oxygen mask so air could flow into dad's open mouth. He turned to leave the room and asked that I follow so dad would not hear. He suggested dad be put on morphine every four hours to ease his pain and labour. He told me that the morphine would probably shorten dad's dying. I told him to please go ahead. Anything to ease dad's death. After the first injection Mimi and I noticed his breathing did ease and he fell asleep. The oxygen mask treatment only lasts about 5 minutes but will get more moisture into his nose and mouth.

When I arrived earlier 2 staff members were changing and repositioning him. I almost went ballistic at how rough I thought they were as did Mimi. We stepped in and slowed the process down. Dad suffers greatly when he is moved because his back has been destroyed by arthritis. I will feed the animals and try to eat before I go back to sit with dad this evening. I pray he goes quietly into the night.

Dad looked worse when I returned at about 6:30. His breathing was laboured. After he had his shot at 7:30 I turned him. The room is so hot with the oxygen machine and dad is working so hard with his breathing that he is hot also. I keep wringing out clothes in cold water and putting them on his forehead. I hope they make him feel better. Oxygen at 8:30; I lie in a chair beside dad, talking to him, crying, talking. His colour is worse. I can't look at his legs any more; they are getting too discoloured and it's too hard to take.

Oreo is getting restless; she has scared too many staff today with her sudden appearance and the occasional growl. I think she is upset also. I decided to take her for a short walk and then home. I returned to dad's about 10:15. I waited. At 11:30 I asked for help to bathe dad and turn him which we did. He had another shot and I did not know what to do - whether to stay for the night or leave. At that moment the night nurse manager Minerva came in to check on dad. She said he did not look good. She asked if I was going to go home. I said I may go and get a few hours sleep and then return. She looked at dad and told me that her experience was telling her dad would not last till morning. So I decided to come home, take a shower and go back.

At about 12:30 I returned; they were giving dad his oxygen treatment. The light was low in his room but I could still tell how much worse he was. I pulled up the chair, sat down, took his hand and told him once again that it was OK for him to leave. I told him many things but most of all I told him that I loved him and that I would look after the family. I asked him not to worry about anything. Everything would be OK. I watched him, held his hand, stroked his head and knew as his breathing became softer and less frequent that we were saying goodbye for the last time. At 1:20 he quietly stopped breathing and his eyes closed completely; I guess he was ready to go. Maybe he was waiting for me to return as I had promised him I would.

I removed the oxygen thing from his nose and turned off the machine. I sat and watched him, for the last time. Finally I went out into the hall and told the nurse. She said they would attend to him when I was ready; they would also call the doctor around 6, as well as the funeral home. I went back in and sat by dad for a little while longer. Every time I tried to walk out of the room I couldn't do it. It reminded me of the hundreds of times I have left him alone in this room at night; I always made the mistake of turning around at the door as I was leaving; seeing him sitting in his wheelchair, alone and frail was so heartbreaking - as it was tonight seeing him lying in his bed, so thin and frail. It killed me then and it killed me again tonight.

I'm home now; I can't sleep. I am sitting at my computer, emailing friends about dad's death at 3 in the morning. How weird. The nursing home will call me when the doctor comes tomorrow. I can't believe dad is gone, yet I am glad it's over. He has been through enough in the past 2 years. A lengthy death would have been too much. I believe he is at peace. I hope I will be soon.

April 24/00
I slept for a few hours and was awake at 7 when the nursing home called to tell me that the doctor had signed dad's death certificate. They asked how I wanted to make the arrangements for the funeral home. We agreed that I would meet the funeral home people at dad's at 11. Meanwhile I got up and out, taking Oreo for her morning stroll. Some things you just gotta do, no matter how you feel. And I felt rather dazed, off my centre. When I arrived at dad's, people immediately started to come into his room to say goodbye to dad and give me hugs. Dad's companion Wahid, his brother Kabir, Mireille and Sheila also companions who have helped care for dad and support me for the past 3 years. What terrific people. I will miss seeing them but I know we will stay in touch. Many staff members alos dropped by to offer their condolences.

Dad was lying on his bed, covered in a sheet. I looked at his face briefly but I wanted to remember him in better times. I sat by his bed one last time and I remembered the years spent here with him and realized this would be the last time at Lincoln Place for me, at least for a while until I can get myself together. While walking Oreo last night, I asked myself If I would or even could go through the past 14 years again. Right now I doubt it. The pain and guilt of watching my father sink into the abyss have been almost too great. The past few months I could barely make myself see him because it was so terribly painful to see dad so debilitated.

The funeral people arrived with the gurney and gray worsted body bag. When they came into dad's room and asked if we wished to stay or leave, I walked out of the room crying. I could not stay. After they left, Wahid and Kabir helped me organize dad's few meagre possessions and clothing so I don't have to come back alone to do it. We each kept what meant the most to us. I donated his folding wheelchair and 2 commodes to Lincoln Place with the hope that other people may be helped. I also dropped off 3 beautiful large print books I was given, donated in dad's memory. He was too far gone when I had them but I hope others will benefit from their beauty. I tried so hard to do what was right for my father; at this moment I feel like a failure.

At 2:00 PM I had to go back to the funeral home to finalize the arrangements and sign some documents. Dad will be cremated as per his wishes and his ashes will be placed next to my mother's. So I had to sign a document saying my father did not have pacemaker which could blow up during cremation and damage the furnace. The funeral home will have minimal involvement. My mother's funeral was completely arranged by them and I hated the depersonalization of it all. I have even chosen the remembrance book people will sign at the Memorial for dad.

It's about 5:00 PM; I have spoken with the minister and the service will take place on May 2 at 2 PM, with a reception after at the church. The enterrement of the ashes will take place that morning. My sister Lanci will not be coming from California as she is not well and cannot travel much any more. I was disappointed; I was hoping that all 5 kids would be together but not so. My brother will come from Calgary, along with Debbie and Jenny.

I have spent much of the day making arrangements, calling people to let them know. I am exhausted in body and mind. My aunt has called a few times and told me to relax, go to bed. She is right; maybe I'll have a bath after Oreo's walk.

And so it is over. I feel jagged around the edges. I no longer have a father, a father in a nursing home. A father to visit and a father for whom I was a daughter.

April 25/00
I have spent most of the day again on the phone, calling people about the Memorial service. I finished the obituary to be placed in the Toronto Globe and Mail tomorrow and next Monday. How many years have I turned to the obits, reading about the deaths of my parents' friends...I never told my dad as it would have upset him too much in his fragile state.

My sister in California sent me beautiful flowers as a thank you for my care of dad. I was amazed and pleased; they made my day. She will not be coming to the Memorial as she is unwell and not able to travel.

Feel tired, overwhelmed with all the work I see waiting for me, let alone the trip to Ottawa on Friday for an End of Life conference. How ironic...

April 26/00
More time on the phone trying to finalize things via voice mail which can get frustrating. I have started back into meetings and still feel tired. So many demands on my time and right now I just seem to want to sit for a bit.

I sent flowers to the 5th floor staff at Lincoln Place to thank them for the care and support they gave dad and me over the past few years. I hope some of them come to the Memorial service.

Dad's obituary was to be in the paper today. I opened it up, wondering how I would feel when I finally saw the announcement of dad's death in black and white. It was as if I were reading about some other Ralph Henderson, not my dad. Hard to explain. I guess it all has not reached my core yet. More conversations (voice mails) with the minister; I think we finally have it all set.

I have been getting wonderful email and calls of support from people. It does help. I keep seeing a picture of my father in his wheelchair, sitting alone, so old, frail. I don't know why. What I do think I know is that I am glad it is over. Glad for my father and glad for me. When I think 14 years...I can't believe it. How did all this happen?