It’s hard to describe what it feels like to be wathching your father die. I’m sitting in the hospice room with my mother waiting for the family to arrive with a strange sort of detatchment. It’s almost like I’m just looking in on another family, like I’m intruding on their grief. I can’t really explain it…perhaps it’s just denial.
My father almost died 4 nights ago when pneumonia filled his lungs with fluid. The doctors had to suction it out or he would drown. Unfortunatly, the treatment is not working. Along with the illness his dementia took a strong downward turn so his comprehension and understanding is very limited. After much family discussion we have decided to stop treatment and let him go.
Today is about comfort for him. Morphine is the drug of this day and I am trying to keep him pain free as much as possible. As he is now non verbal, I have to guess if it’s enough or too much. I try to judge by his body language and other signs, but I’m so unsure. When I look in his eyes I still see him there, and that’s the hardest part. I hope I’m doing the right thing.
He has not eaten anything in 5 days, and no fluids in over 24 hours. I don’t think he will last the night. How do you say goodbye? This is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, but I will follow it through to the very end. I love you dad.