[ODAT]

It is with grief and hope that I write this.

My father is dying.
The first of January I got a call from his wife, Cathy. "Please, come. Your father is gasping for breath, in the hospital and we don't know if he will make it through the night."
It was my sons birthday party. The table was spred with all sorts of goodies and I had just finished decorating his cake. And I wanted to stay, yet I wanted to go to my father though there wasn't much I could do there. My son, was due to go to his father's house for his visitation that evening and I only had a little time left with him...but he was not in the hospital dying from the results of hard living for many years.
I went to my fathers house, met with Cathy and went down to see my father.

I entered into the room to see my father gasping for air, oxygen mask over his face, hooked up to machines which monitored his blood oxygen levels. They appeared to be good, yet his colour wasn't and he was clearly struggling. His first words to me were good news of a sort. "Your sister called, she was crying and very sorry and she will call back in half an hour. Please talk with her will you. Tell her I love her."

My father and my sister have not spoken to each other in over 5 years--harsh words being said as she had confronted him over some of the things that had happened long since past when we were children and he was in his heavy drinking stage. Yet, she had called because she was sorry and knew he was dying and like me, her wish was that he came to know Jesus before he died. So, I hold my fathers' hand, bite back the tears and stay there with him. Cathy comes in, already a little toasted, hears that my sister called and is angry. Still hanging on to the words that were said 5 years ago, and unable to understand that Dad wanted to put anger aside before he goes. My sister calls and I answer the phone and listen to her tears and explain that at the momment Dad can not speak. He can only concentrate on breathing but he says he loves her and I will call when/if this spell passes. He needs to get stronger before talking much. Cathy is angry and making gestures towards me. I cut the phone call short and go back to sitting with Dad.

He is panicky, pushing us away--people too close make him feel enclosed. Nurses are telling him to calm down and he is trying to explain to them that he can't breath. The readings look good, and then quickly deteriorate. Oxygen intake is 1/2 of what it should be. My sister calls back and I talk with her again. Again, I'm given angry gestures from Cathy and I am told to 'choose sides'. I tell Cathy I will not fight at my fathers bedside and I will not choose sides. Cathy storms out and paces the hallway. Doctors come in, nurses come in and they prepare for more interventions should they become necessary. Morphine is given to relax my father and then more and more medications to help get things calmed down.

Eventually we leave the hospital, Dad is now calm and able to sleep and we are made aware that should another attack happen at night that things don't look good. He has had about 10 of these attacks in the past 24 hours and his body and heart can not keep with the stress.

I go home to Cathy's house and am called everything but a white woman. Words I wouldn't dream of using on my worst enemies are yelled at me and I remember the alanon people telling me "if someone calls you a chair, does that mean you are a chair?". I understand that it is pain and fear talking and somehow Cathy calms down and the tears begin. My job is now to calm her down. Phone calls made to my husband and the kids and they make arrangements to come up. In times of need, it is family you turn to.

Somehow we get through the next couple of days. We manage to get up to the hospital, regardless of whether Cathy goes or not. Cathy is drunk every day to the point of falling down and we spend a lot of time and energy intervening on behalf of the kids. I do manage to get him a book to read that may help to at least soften his heart a little. He spoke with my sister the following morning and peace was made. For that I am thankful.

We left today. I feel torn. Whilst I would like to be there to go and see my father whilst he is in the hospital, I can not continue to allow the children to be around my step-mother whilst she continues to drink herself into oblivion. Words again were said today. Again, I was called a few choice names and I thank God that the children did not hear this. Yet, whilst we are there, it is only a matter of time. They did notice she was very drunk and commented on it. They are now upset to some degree which is portrayed through behavior rather than words.

When I returned here some years ago, it was so that my children could get to know my father a little bit. He was not a great man, and he had many faults, yet he still had many good points and he loved the grand children dearly. Last night, I was able to understand that each and every day, minute that we have with my father is now a gift...something to treasure. I am angry with Cathy for being drunk, angry that I have had to choose between being there for my father and protecting my children through this time. I'm uncertain how to handle this. Like my sister, my greatest wishes are that my father knows that I am proud of him despite all of his faults. He was and is a good father in many aspects. Like my sister, my deepest wish is that before he dies, he has a momment of clarity and gets to know Jesus. I have faith that this will happen, yet I ask for prayers for him. How terrifying to be facing death uncertain of where you are going once those machines stop beeping.