Musings on Dad's passing, composed July 12, 2012

My father, with the two nurses who worked with Parkinson's patients.

Saturday.

Life events and national events and the state of the world.  Ancient Chinese curse:  "May you live in interesting times."  High anxiety, a feeling of perpetual angst that's never been so hard to shake.  And me without a nearby drink, or even better, a nearby friend.  It's hard sometimes to know what to hold onto, what it is that's worthwhile, worth keeping.  Also hard to decide what to let go, walk away from and when to do it. 

My father--whose insistence on driving I complained about earlier--died last fall, a demise brought about by Parkinson's and its accompanying dementia.  It took hours for him to eat and slowly he lost weight, so much so that his system just basically shut down.  The neurologist and her nurse knew that Dad was a goner when we brought him in for what would be his last appointment:  I could tell by the horrified look on the nurse's face; the serious, completely focused attention of the neurologist; the nurse's hug as we left.  My Dad knew it, too; he told them that he 'probably would never see them again' and expressed gratitude for their support, for the chance to know them.

He probably did not get all the care that he should have.  But he died at home in the presence of those he loved, and that was more important to him than the correct care and feeding offered by an institution.