I guess my dad called my sister early this morning, and said he didn’t feel well. She went over there, and found he was in rough shape, with fever, coughing, and having a hard time breathing. This is just a worsening of what’s been going on. He refused to go to the hospital, and they called hospice for him. They don’t think he will make it through the night.
This is reminiscent of the way his mother died thirty years ago. Just getting worse and worse, then one day saying “Put me to bed.” She kept asking for something, which we couldn’t understand. We think she had a stroke. We put her to bed, called the priest to give her last rites, and an hour later she was dead. Later on we figured out she had been asking for a priest.
I’m very sad that I’m not there, but I’m told I wouldn’t want to see him this way. And I probably wouldn’t. I’ve been discouraged from changing my plane reservation, and since he will be cremated, we will probably have the memorial service then. Which will mean he will be buried the same weekend that my mom was, on Valentine’s Day.
The Boyo stayed over last night, and he is with me now. I’m having a hard time with not seeing my dad again. I sat with two grandparents as they were dying, so maybe they figure I’ve done my part. I’ve been asked to make a slideshow of my dad’s life for the memorial service, so I guess I will be doing that for the next ten days.
And the worst part is that when he dies, I will be the oldest in the whole famn damily. And I hate that.