January 14th, 2017. We had been keeping a constant vigil at his bedside in the intensive care unit. Thursday and Friday had brought a steady stream of visitors; family and friends alike from all over who had come to say goodbye and offer their love and support to our family. We knew full well what we were facing. We just were not sure when it would happen.
We, as a family, had made the very difficult decision to only allow for comfort care with no heroic measures- no cpr, no drugs... just pain meds. By Friday night, everyone had gone home. Everyone except me, my mom, and my brother Tim. My partner Jason, had come in on the train from Los Angeles to be with me and offer support.
The room was silent most of the time. Just the beeping of alarms and the sound of the bi-pap machine helping him breathe. Any talking was done in whispers. I knew we were close to the end when the nurses put a cart outside the door with small snacks, coffee, and water bottles for us.
Saturday morning. It was very early and we were all exhausted and had agreed to take shifts so that each of us could rest a little. But sleep was an impossibility. I would sit holding his hand and watching the numbers fluctuate on the monitors above his bed. The nurses had clued me into what everything meant, where the numbers should be, and when we would know we were in trouble.
Dad was very uncomfortable. He kept complaining that his back hurt. He had been getting morphine injections every four hours, but it wasn't working for very long. He also hated the bi-pap and kept trying to push it off of his face. He would cry and I would squeeze his hand and ask what was wrong, he would just shake his head. I must have said "I love you" dozens of times that early morning.
At 8:30, my brother and mom came to relieve me for a few hours so that Jason and I could go home to shower and sleep. I kissed my dad and told him I loved him and turned to leave. My brother called me back into the room, "Dad is talking to you." I went back to his bedside and he practically shouted, "I LOVE YOU!" I will never forget those words and the power behind them.
We went back to my apartment and I fell asleep out of pure exhaustion. At 10:45, I noticed a missed call from my brother and called him back. Dad was gone. I don't think I have ever wailed so loud in my entire life.
I have to think that dad waited for me to leave to die. I think he knew I couldn't handle watching him pass.
That day, a little over one month ago, was the worst day of our lives. This blog is our way of working through the tremendous grief of losing such a remarkable, generous man.
He is greatly missed.
Written by Samantha (Ross and Shayne's daughter)
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