Dying Alone


When I was told my father was dead, one of the first thoughts was the following.

He was alone.  None of us, his family was with him.  Although he passed away in an ambulance with qualified emergency personnel, it wasn’t his family.  The next thought was of how he didn’t die a peaceful death.  He struggled, they worked on him for 20 plus minutes. He died from cardiac arrest.

I watched this movie yesterday and these thoughts that I had so neatly tucked away in the back of my mind re-surfaced.  The scene where the main star is dying and wants her caregiver to leave the room I understand to some degree but every nerve in my body was saying stay with her. She left but as she listened to her struggling to breathe the caregiver made her way back to hold the dying woman.

I remember holding my Dad’s hand.  Holding my own breath as he coughed and couldn’t breathe.  I remember that last day sitting alone with him, a gift I now cherish, and hope to never forget.  I remember telling him “I will see you in Wichita” and kissing him on the cheek.   The last time I spoke to him, the last time I saw him alive, the last time I was with him.

If I was present when he passed, I’d like to think I would have held his hand, or wrapped my arms around him.  That I would have prayed over him and told him it’s ok to go. That with each word spoken my heart would have broken but no more pain would be a blessing as well.

Things happen the way they are suppose to.  People die everyday peacefully and some not so peacefully.  Sometimes I wish I could just hold his hand one more time and feel his hug.   Those hugs.

Dying Alone

Grace is a gift,

Julie

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