Six Hour Shift

[[6:07 a.m.]]

Here I sit cattycorner to dad’s bed.

Huff...two...three...four...

The nurse just came in for his 6:00 morphine. He’s running a temperature. She says it is part of the last steps. 101.5.

Huff...two...three...four...

Last night we decided to “increase his comfort” by increasing his dosage of pain meds. We all want the same thing. He wants it, too. It is a little scary to be here alone with him. I’m literally counting his breaths.

Huff...two...three...four...

From six until noon I am at his side in case he draws his final breath. Uncle Chuck thinks it will be Sunday afternoon. As scary and sad as it is, I almost hope he passes with me here. I’m just happy that he isn’t in any kind of pain emotional or physical.

Huff...two...three...four...

I’m playing the Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack. It fills the air with something besides rhythmic attempts at drawing air. You have to understand, the only thing “wrong” with dad is the tumor. His body was fit and healthy. He was a swimmer and football player in high school and college. He’s had to totally shut down.

Huff...two...three...four...

I want to sleep. Physically because I am still very tired from Nekoheadz last night. Mentally because it will provide me a brief respite from the serious task at hand. It smells like lotion in here. There was a Mexican family that came to visit their dying grandfather in the next room. He has since passed. 91 years old. More children than you could count. They were here nearly 24/7 grieving and reading from the Bible.

Huff...two...three...four...

Sorting through all of the stuff at the house is sad but cathartic. Old photos. Video tapes. Memorabilia. Heirlooms. Who gets what and why do we even have things like this? If I could offer you all one piece of advice, it is to live with as little stuff as possible. Also, help your parents get rid of all their stuff now while you can. Clean out the basement. The attic. Wherever. It only complicates the process by having to spend yourself physically to do that stuff now and in a hurry when you are already gone mentally. Spiritually.

Huff...two...three...four...

I’m quitting my finance career. I don’t have the spirit for it any more. It has actually given me a bit of peace in my life. I need to find something that will help me with my business idea. Of course, this still doesn’t mean that I won’t suggest you talk to me or another professional about your finances (even if you don’t think you have any to talk about). Part of what has made this whole thing easier is because all his stuff was in line. Just remember that a twenty-one year old can lay in that bed just as a sixty-one or ninety-one year old can. Do it now while you can. Please.

Huff...two...three...four...

There is good with the bad. This has only made our family stronger, in my opinion. It has made us each individually stronger, too. Maybe I’m a grown up after all of this? Selfishly I’d prefer to buy dad something from Toys-R-Us to prevent that from happening. I have been having rather intense bouts of selfishness, actually. It upsets me after the fact. I usually keep my emotions in check, but this is beyond anything I have yet experienced in my life – and that is a lot. By my reckoning, anyway. To each their own, no? But, like I have always done before, I will learn from this. I will become a better, stronger, and more gentle person.

Huff...two...three...four...

I expressed it once already, but if I had my way this wouldn’t be happening for another thirty years. Like the Mexican (great?) grandfather from the next room, I had hoped dad would see me married. With kids. We’d spend a few more holidays together in the newly-renovated (and soon to be sold) house. I’d be able to pick up some more lame jokes from him. We’d be in business together. Or, I’d be able to hear his voice just one last time clearly. The last time I did was before Memorial Day. Ironic, because I cannot remember our last conversation and the sound of his voice, while sought after, would be like something I have never heard before. I almost forget how he sounds now. It is nice to be able to let things go that need to go, but dammit, there are still things I want to keep.

Huff...two...three...four...

Dad wanted to be buried in something casual but warm. I think he wanted to wear a turtleneck. He definitely wanted warm socks. He will be buried to the left of my grandpa and grandma on the Morgan plot in Oakland Cemetary. You can actually see it from Rt. 250 if you are driving by during late fall through early spring when leaves and such aren’t in the way. I’d like to be buried there, too. Perhaps cremated. Yeah, I think I’d like to be cremated. No need for me to take up a lot of space or have an elaborate burial. In fact, you can scatter my ashes too. It helps with the healing. I’m just a guy. I never want excessive amounts of attention. I hate drama. I love to improve the quality of life in those around me but in subtle, quiet, and personal ways. Or, I guess I could always go out of this word as I came in: naked and screaming. Heh. That was a joke.

Huff...two...three...four...

I’ve spent nearly an hour writing this. Maybe more like 45 minutes. It has been a good thing for me to do. I’ve chronicled what I needed to. I’ve vented what I needed to vent. I’ve shared that which I wanted to share. I feel pretty complete right now. Save for a nap. One of those sounds good. You know us Morgan boys, we can sleep through anything.

I love you dad. I know that you love me too. That’s enough for a simple guy like me.

Huff…

::smile::

Huff…

::squeezes his hand and kisses his forehead::

Huff…

::waits::

[[6:51 a.m.]]

[[9:23 a.m.]]

He sighs.

[[9:25 a.m.]]

“Goodbye dad. I love you. I’m going to make you proud. Say hi to grandpa and grandma for me.”

::a kiss, a tear, and a small smile::



Christopher Carlton Morgan

Born: May 12, 1945, Sandusky, Ohio
Died: July 15, 2006, Sandusky, Ohio

You will be missed. You are loved.