Now We Wait

The sound of the oxygen machine was lulling me to sleep.  My eyes were getting heavy, but I stayed focused.  I laid on my side with my folded hands tucked under my chin and my knees bent resting next to his fragile body, just wanting to be close.  As a child, I always slept like this to comfort myself.  Now I was just breathing in what little life he had left.  Silently willing him to go but begging whispers asking him to stay.  I noticed a dark unfocused photo of his late sister on the wall above the dresser, and I felt like it was beckoning him, as I alternated from looking at his face, to looking at the portrait.  And in his heart I know he wants to be with her.

His mouth was wide open as he rhythmically struggled to get air.   His body would uncontrollably twitch with each breath, first his legs then his chest and arms.  The oxygen in his nose was doing little to help as his mouth was doing all the work.  I so wanted him to wake up and talk to me. I needed one last conversation with my Dad.   How little time he had left.  I wanted to cry, but just lay there in a kind of meditative anxiety.  Mom was sitting in a recliner in the room watching TV.  She didn’t want to leave his side.  Even though she had come to terms with his condition she was still losing the love of her life.

Phone calls had been made, texts had gone out.  Advice was asked, “should I come now.”  My answer is always yes.  There is no way to predict how long it will be, only lately there has been a deep decline.  I didn’t want anyone to regret not coming.  And at the same time, didn’t want to sound the alarm.  There is no right answer.  He has just given up on taking his medication and has not been eating.  He wants to mercifully rest in peace but this world and our love is holding on to him.

Now we wait.

Please pray for George.