I went into Dad’s room to check on him, and his breathing had changed. Most of the day, it was labored and rapid, and the nurse warned me that he was going to get tired. Now it was deep and slow, and his eyes were open, staring at me. I put my hand on his chest, as I’d done over the previous several days, leaned over and spoke into his ear:

“Don’t worry about mom. We’ll take care of mom”

Then I sat back down, and watched him take his last breath.

We’ll never know what the final moments will be like for any of us. There are all kinds of ways to die, including this one. As you know, dad had Parkinson’s, and in the advanced stages of decline, it’s so difficult to communicate. But in my heart, what I’d like to believe is that mom had already told dad that she would be ok, that it’s ok to leave her behind. And I think that dad didn’t believe her; she was just being stoic. Mom always says “I’m fine, I’ll be fine” even though she’s not, whether it’s a cold or something worse. And I’d like to believe that he needed a second opinion, so I gave it to him. Satisfied, he finally let go.

After a moment, I called for Aria to get mom, who was in the backyard. Mom came in and I lost it. I just lay my head on the bed next to my dad, and cried and cried. Once I got my breath back, I walked into the kitchen, where Aria was cooking, and told her, “He’s gone”. We held each other, and cried some more.

There is so much to process. Grief will run its course, and its course is different within each of us. I’ve decided to post some of that process here, more to come.