Thursday, November 01, 2012


Well, I'm sad to say that Grandad passed this Halloween morning. The mini seizures just kept coming, chipping away at him, and I think he was gone long before his poor body got the message. So, I guess it's for the best. He's not suffering or wasting away.

He's at peace.

Just when we thought he was getting better, a new spate of seizures hit him and just took it out of him. I got the text that he was slipping away, so I made a flying trip to the hospital. When I arrived, they told me they didn't expect him to make it through the night. We'd gone from talking about nursing homes to tragedy.

I held his hand for four hours. He couldn't talk and didn't open his eyes, but he definitely knew if someone let go of that hand. He'd reach for you. So I didn't let go. I held his hand and stroked it, and for the brief few minutes I got alone with him -- family was in and out the whole time, which made the ICU nurses very happy; they couldn't stop talking about how awesome it was that so many relatives wanted to be there -- I sang a little to him and told him I loved him.

By the time I needed to leave, they had revised their opinion that, if his O2 sats stayed where they were, they would transfer him to hospice care in the morning.

Unfortunately, the seizures just didn't stop, and he just didn't have the strength to fight them. Instead of hospice, they just moved him to a regular room and made him as comfortable as possible. With the amount of morphine they gave him, he shouldn't have been in any pain. I hold onto that.

Then, sometime after 4:00 AM, he passed.

The funeral is Sunday in the home town. However, I have to say that I've already said my goodbyes. I did so when I was holding his hand. That's why it was so hard to let it go when I had to head back home. Now, it's just the closure of letting him go.

Wish us luck?


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