I've accompanied several pets on their final journeys to the vet, I've been pallbearer for both at both of my beloved maternal grandparents' funerals and, like Dominic, I've "assisted" my wife while she gave birth to my three wonderful sons. All tough, but the hardest thing I've ever done was ask a question.
My dad was a rough-and-tumble sort, an alcoholic City of Calgary policeman. I've heard from his buddies on the Force that he was one hell of a cop, but he left something to be desired as a father and husband to my mother. My folks split up when I was in junior high, and, to make a long story short, he became estranged from his entire family as of, oh, 1989 or '90. All of us, my Mum, my brother and sister, my grandmother, cousins, missed him, cared for him and loved him, but he elected to go the hermit route. We knew he was somewhere in the Okanagan, but he didn't even have a phone so we couldn't connect with him in any way, shape or form. One day, actually October 23rd, 2002, one of his drinking buddies in Okanagan Falls, gave me a call to say my father was in the hospital in Penticton. I called the hospital and they told me that he had been transferred to the adjoining hospice. Hospice? That sounded pretty serious.
I called the hospice and the nurse I spoke to couldn't contain her disgust for me. For all she knew I was a dick of a son that neglected his cancer-ridden, terminal father. I explained some of the family dynamics to her and she calmed down. So here comes the toughest thing I ever had to do: I asked the nurse if she'd ask my father if it was okay if I came to see him before........you know. She told me to call back in 10 minutes while she asked him.
Well, let's just say those ten minutes didn't go very well. I haven't cried often as an adult, but for that short while I was a mess. Tears and snot flowed freely, and I was a dick to my wife. She told me she understood what I was feeling, and I blew up at her, blustering that she couldn't possibly understand because I didn't understand myself.
I called the hospice back, and the nurse herself was practically in tears. She told me it was okay to come so, the next day, my mother, two siblings and I flew to Kelowna and then rented a car to Penticton. I remember standing outside of Dad's room at the hospice, just a bundle of nerves, not knowing what the hell to say when I got in there. Finally, I just walked in and, when I got to his bed, he turned to me and I blurted, "Dad, we left this too long."
He agreed, and the rest of the visit went as well as could be expected. He gave me the ring he earned when he retired from the Force, then he challenged me to an arm wrestle. We all said our goodbyes, and I told him that I loved him for the first time in my life.
He died just a few days later.
|