It's been a little over one week since Dad passed away. It seems much longer since he was in ICU, unconscious for over two weeks. I can't remember when I last spoke to him--probably the first week of January.
I was in Richmond, VA for a volleyball tournament with my daughter the Saturday he went to the emergency room, and then ICU. I was unable to see him, but according to my mother and sister, he was awake and aware that first weekend, but woke up Sunday night and was confused and combative, so the doctors drugged him with a heavy sedative and anti-hallucinogen. He never woke up.
In some ways I am glad he wasn't awake those two weeks. It was hard enough seeing him with the tubes and machines all around. It would have been so much harder if he was conscious and aware. I know he wasn't ready to go. He enjoyed family time so much, and was always trying to tell a joke or two. Rather than talking with him (he couldn't respond due to the breathing tubes), and lying to him saying he would get better, I prefer my memory from New Years Eve and on the 1st of January where we were all gathered for our annual family picture. Dad was quiet--he always was. But looking back, he seemed happy with all his kids and grandkids hanging out. I miss him, and think of him every day.