The inevitable ending, and a mystical night

What a night...
We'd said our goodbyes to dad at the hospital. Mom had considered spending the night, but decided against it. We all went home and got ready for bed. It was after 11:30 PM and Mom had just finished praying & acknowledging/telling dad that it was ok for him to go. I had just finished writing a little bit about dad in my Palm. At the instant I put down my computer (and coincidentally the instant mom laid down), the phone rang. It was dad's nurse saying that his blood pressure had just dropped critically... he probably wouldn't make it through the night.

As we threw on clothes and rushed to the car, Mom got a hold of my sister & helped her get T ready to go (my brother in law was doing rounds in the ER at the hospital, so he was actually already there) and I called dad's sister (who we'd already designated as the one to get the word out to the rest of the family). I also called Nils because he habitually made late-night visits to dad's room, and he would be closer to the hospital than we were.

Nils indeed made it to the hospital faster than we did, and we all had the same infuriating encounter with the night security officer at the desk. I don't think the man could possibly have been less efficient, cooperative, or compassionate. We knew that it could be a matter of minutes until we missed him, and that we'd never get another chance... so the guard's incompetence was a truly sore spot.

When we made it up to the hospital room & met Nils, the nurse, and the doctor, dad had already died. He died (very peacefully) at exactly midnight, actually very shortly after we were called. They assured us that security guard or not, there was no way that we'd have been able to make it in time. I understand that it often happens that way, where people seem to wait to let go until no one is around.

My brother in law, and the rest of the family, met us up at the hospital room not long after we arrived (many complaining about the same guard). :) Considering everything that had happened that night, the time of his passing (I don't know exactly how "time of death" is determined, or if the midnight time might have been chosen somewhat arbitrarily... but I have great faith in the staff who were on duty that night [some of our favorites] and in what they told me), along with the meteor shower, full moon, and the crystalline beauty of the particular night... it truly made me feel like there was something special about dad's passing, and that there is definitely more to it than just an end.

Much of the time in the hospital room was a blur. We spoke to a chaplain, and they offered an autopsy (which we declined), and we hugged and cried a lot. I steeled myself to kiss dad goodbye on his forehead, but I remember it feeling odd... cold and clammy... and not very meaningful. There may have just been too much going on in the room for me, but I remember just not having much interest in being in dad's room... like there just wasn't anything left there for me anymore. I wanted to be there for my family & to comfort everyone, but I was happier just sitting by the window in the hallway, looking up at the stars. I could see Mars, and wishing I could see one of the falling stars.

Eventually, we all hugged our goodbyes... and said goodbye to dad's room, too. We had spend so much time there over the previous 3 months that it was strange to think that it wasn't dad's room anymore. I hoped that the room wouldn't see another tragedy, and that its next occupant would fare much better.

When I got back to the house, I needed to send out a message to everyone. Unfortunately mom only had a windows machine, and it had gotten infected with a worm that forced the machine to reboot every time it connected to the network. I was using a web-based form to send my message, so it probably took about 10 reboots, and a lot of saving & off-line editing, cutting, and pasting. I did finally get the message out.

After I got the message sent, I just went outside and laid down on the driveway. I didn't really cry too much... I'd done that (and would do a lot more). Mostly I just propped my head up and looked at the sky. As the sky brightened to dawn, I headed in... not wanting to wait for the sunrise. Still never got to see a falling star.

Later that morning, L and the kids came from Lincoln, and it was so great to see them. I drove over to the Krispy Kreme to get donuts for the hospital staff. Unfortunately, they were already having a "food day" so I'm afraid that dad's "memorial donuts" probably got lost in the shuffle... but the point was to say thanks.