My Dad Died Ten Minutes Ago
should I leave now?
Mom sat at the dining room table, devouring the buttered toast I made her.
“He’s gone, right?” she asked mid-munch without looking up.
“Yes,” I hesitated for a moment and nodded. “He’s gone.”
My dad, her husband of 67 years, had just died in the next room.
She stirred another spoonful of sugar into her tea, dipped her toast in. “Okay.”
“I mean, he’s still here, Mom…but he’s dead. Is that what you meant?”
She didn’t respond. Fortunately for me at that moment Mom and her dementia were distracted by her breakfast. Raisin bread’s her favorite and she hadn’t eaten much since yesterday. I had coffee and calls to make but wanted to get her settled a bit before getting my head around the day ahead of me.
Last night Dad kept us on our toes: fluffing his pillows, changing TV channels, shaving his face, feeding him…it was like he thought if he kept giving us more and more to do and never let us sit down, he wouldn’t die.
“Who’s here?” she asked next.
“Just you and me.” For now anyway, the hospice nurse had just left.
“Where’s Blue?” Mom peeked under the table.
“In there,” I pointed. “She’s still with him.”
Dad’s dog Blue was shivering next to his bed in the living room. She’d been part of last night’s hospice brigade but freaked out this morning when the choking started, the death rattle, and wildly paced the living room toward the end. When the hospice nurse got the morphine in him and his breathing stopped, Blue froze up, then her shaking started. I can deal with grieving humans, grieving animals are a different story. I wrapped her in a blanket and left her there for now, I wasn’t sure what else to do. She needed time to process this loss and I was in no shape to peel a 70 pound pitbull off the floor.
On my phone I googled:
-What to do for a dog when owner dies
-Dog trauma when owner dies
-Dog shivering next to dead owner
Their Rolodex was already right there on the table so I flipped through the cards and found:
DOCTOR MILDER/BLUE VET in Dad’s shaky writing.
I pulled the card out and stared at it.
If this was just your average things-to-do-when-your-dad-dies situation I wouldn’t hesitate.I’d be working the phone calling friends, making funeral arrangements, going through boxes of Kleenex. But this was different. How was any of this going to work? The shaking dog. My decomposing father. What to do with Mom. My dad just died a few minutes ago and I didn’t know how or when or if to start anything.
I had only just learned that Dad had recently changed their will, replacing me with a man from their Fundamentalist Christian church, making him executor and beneficiary. He was now in charge of everything including my Mom and Blue. His name was now on all their accounts and medical records. He had his own keys to my parents house, keys to everything my parents owned.
It suddenly occurred to me that Dad may have wanted him (and his wife) here last night instead of me. His church family. The family he preferred and a life I was not part of. I suddenly felt like an imposter in the very house I grew up in. I felt nervous and out of place at the dining room table where we’d had all our meals and birthday parties and Thanksgivings. Should I even be here at all?
Mom sat across from me, quietly flipping through one of the photo albums we’d taken out, pointing at people, trying to remember who they were.
“Alexa: Play Heroic Polonaise by Frederick Chopin,” I requested. As the music started an unexpected childhood memory washed over me. Me at nine or ten, in this room setting the table for dinner while Mom played Heroic so elegantly and forte on her piano. Dad right here in the kitchen, happily cooking us one of his impressive gourmet meals, paella or something. Long before their church days. Chopin was always her favorite. I didn’t know if anyone was going to know what her favorites were anymore.
If my brother were still alive this never would have happened. When he died our family broke and we never recovered. We never spoke of him again. A couple times I tried and they stopped me. Mom buried it and that’s when her brain broke. I’ve been this outsider, a reminder of their old life. Someone they used to know from a family they used to be part of, I would navigate carefully just to have people I could call parents.
Last night was something of a miracle (if I actually believed in those). I’d been feeling so betrayed, so abandoned. I powered through using a little mental trick, asking myself: “What would Future Stephanie want?” I knew if I could just get us all through the night and set my feelings aside, I could live with myself later. Future Stephanie kept pushing me forward saying “You got this. Do it for your brother.” Even though I was in pain, I knew Dad was in a lot more. Even though it was probably his last night, I knew I would go on living. I wanted his last hours to be peaceful. They were.
Chopin continued playing and Mom hummed along. She knew it all by heart, just tucked up in her brain somewhere.
“Now what will we do?” Mom asked. I wasn’t sure if she was talking about right then or in the future. Either way I had no idea.
“Will you stay here with me?” she wanted to know.
“Sure Mom.” I told her. Even though I wasn’t sure I could keep that promise.