May 3, 1920 - July 13, 2004
The end came swiftly and peacefully, with my sister and me at his side. He spent the final two days of his life listening to joyous music eminating from the hearts and lips of his loving children and their spouses. Nurses at the ICU commented that never before had anyone been serenaded by continuous show-tunes, hymns, pop music, lullabies, nursery rhymes ... sung at the top of our voices.
We could tell he was listening. While still hooked up to monitors, there were distinct patterns of blood pressure that could be directly attributed to who was singing. When my sister or my wife sang, blood pressure was low and steady. When I sang, blood pressure immediately soared and became erratic. Even in a near-comatose state, my dad had strong opinions about my (lack of a) singing voice.
Tonight, I had arrived at the hospital, ready to begin the night-time shift. My sister was describing how the day had gone, and what to watch for, now that my dad had been removed from the monitor. My dad must have been listening for my arrival. He chose that 20-minute window of shift change-over to alter his breathing pattern, open his eyes wide, and make noises (which we thought were moans of pain - but now believe to be an attempt at a final goodbye). We both spoke to him at that point, told him we loved him, and gave him permission to sleep. Less than a minute later, he was gone.
There were no tears. My dad had left us the greatest gift of joy imaginable. A final expression of love.
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