MOMENTO MORI

I recall the tragic day of 9-11-2001. My father had faded to the point where he seemed only half here, and half some place else. Around 3:00 PM I turned on the television. I was shocked and horrified! We were at war! America was under attack! Who would be foolish enough to attack the United States! I was saddened and sickened. But terrorists didn't frighten me. I was more terrified of losing my father.

Avis had died the month before. Death seemed to be setting the scene for the new decade ahead. During my 50's; long time family friends, acquaintances, and relatives seemed to be dropping left and right.

By my 60th birthday, most of my father's generation were gone. I found many of the so-called "Greatest Generation" to be seriously messed-up adults. At least they were in my family.

Back to 2001. My father's severe stomach pains returned. I gave him a strong narcotic prescribed by his doctor. Soon that wasn't enough. I phoned the doctor and asked if it was time for Hospice. They confirmed what I feared.

I informed Dad that Hospice would be coming. While I was upstairs, I heard him crying in the kitchen. I wanted to go down and comfort him. But I didn't know how. I couldn't say, everything was going to be all right. He was going to die! And nothing could prevent it. And I couldn't tell him, he would be in heaven. Because he didn't believe in heaven. So I just closed my door.

An attractive, smiling, young woman arrived from Hospice . "How long will I be under your care?" was my father's 1st inquiry. She told him there was no set time frame. She then asked to see his bed-quarters.

I had moved his bedroom downstairs into our home office. My father remained in the living room as I led the way. The woman's smile vanished. "He's not ready to hear this," she stated, "but you have to, your father is right at the end. I doubt he will live 3 more days."

I couldn't control my tears, but I muffled my sobs. I thought there would be a little more time. But she seemed certain. I tried to compose myself before I rejoined Dad.

An hour later, a nurse arrived. A short, dark, dumpy woman I'll call Nurse C-. She quickly checked Dad over and proclaimed, "Your father's not going anytime soon. He has a strong pulse."

I didn't know which to believe. This directly contradicted the lady from Hospice. But I noticed my father even weaker as the day wore on.

Another nurse arrived at 10:00 PM to begin her overnight shift. She put Dad to bed. I brought in a fresh change of clothes for in the morning. She told me to take them away, because he would never be leaving that bed alive.--Egads, I hoped my father's poor hearing protected him from that information!

" It's going to get noisy here," she declared. "I just want to you to be aware."

Later as I sobbed into my pillow, my father's shrill wailing and moaning chilled me. It was downright eerie, like something straight from a Victorian horror story, and equally as haunting! I'll never forget it. Honestly, the sound conjured the image of a banshee! This continued throughout most of the night.

The next morning Dad was quiet. On closer examination, my father seemed barely conscious.

Previously, my dad had given me 2 signed checks with instructions to empty his account into mine. So I would have living expenses directly after his death. At the bank, I was bawling so hard, they inquired what was wrong. I explained the situation. They were sympathetic, and suggested I not empty his account entirely due to deposits from investments. I followed their advice.

Upon my return, a different nurse greeted me. Worried, she explained that after her shift ended, no one would be coming. Unfortunately, they were unable to schedule someone for the night shift. I would be alone when my father passed.

Later, a lady who appeared to be in authority, arrived to briefly speak with me. She apologized for the coming night. "I felt I needed to prepare you for what to expect," she lamented. "You might hear a gurgling sound. It's called the Death Rattle. Or sometimes at the end, they have a sudden burst of energy. They'll sit up and start seeing and conversing with dead family members."

I thought to myself, if that happens, I'm leaving through the nearest door and I'm never coming back here!

Having no appetite, I didn't eat my dinner until later than usual. After putting the dishes away, I went upstairs to slip into my lounging robe. I was steeling myself for the unpleasant night ahead. Shortly, the nurse would be leaving.

From the stair landing, I saw the nurse at the foot. "I've been looking for you!" she hollered. "Your father passed!"

I began bawling as I descended. She rushed to console me, but I pushed her away. I didn't want a stranger hugging me. I wanted to see my father! I was startled to see his body in the same position as my mother when she passed 14 yrs earlier. -- Head twisted back to the left, tilted and mouth open. The date was October 16, 2001. My mother had passed October 17, 1987. And both died of exactly the same condition! It was too weird.

The nurse assured me she wouldn't leave until after the body was taken... My father was wheeled away beneath a plush, royal blue cloth. In fact I had a winter robe of the same color and material in the downstairs closet. At 1st glance, I thought they'd taken my robe to cover him.

Finally alone, I was in a state of near shock. I couldn't collect my thoughts. I turned on the TV hoping for a mental escape. I wanted to focus on something in an attempt to steady myself. Someone was knocking on the door.

Nurse C- had returned. She claimed to be concerned about me. We had a calming chat that lasted almost an hour. Before she left, she announced that she planned to take me out for soup and a donut, a week from Friday. Her last words to me were, "I won't forget!"

Well, she forgot!!!

Later, I complained about Nurse C- to the Hospice minister. Who replied, "You've been disappointed by other people many times in your life, haven't you?"

Yeah, that's an understatement.

After the departure of Nurse C-, I decided it was time for bed. I closed my father's upstairs bedroom door.-- He preferred it open. Where as my bedroom door is always keep shut and locked after I retire for the night.

Several years before marrying my father, Avis was awakened after midnight with a knife pressed against her throat! A bruising struggle had ensued, after which she was robbed. -- A locked door may not stop a determined burglar. But it should give me some warning. And I have a semi-automatic.

A thunderous bam jolted my eyes open! A sound of fury against Dad's closed door! I had just settled into bed. My night was a sleepless one.

Arrangements were made for my father's cremation as per his wishes. This is what I desire for myself as well. -- Just make certain I'm 100 % dead first!!!

Around the 3rd night after the death, I turned out my lights and got into bed. I hadn't even closed my eyes, yet. I began hearing loud foot-falls in the loft. My heart pounded. At first, I thought someone had broken into the house! But I had been out there only seconds ago. There was no way I wouldn't have spotted an intruder! Shaking, I listened as someone paced back and forth. Eventually, it stopped.

After my father's cremains were delivered, I placed them before the huge stone fireplace with an Angel figurine on top. His picture is directly above on the mantle. Candles are all around.

There's a long fan hanging down from the cathedral ceiling. Often, it started turning by itself at a fast clip. (With the switch off!) The windows were all closed. There was no draft, or breeze of any sort! Even the air-conditioner was off. It never once did this when my father was alive.

A Memorial Service was planned for the Sunday before Thanksgiving. It would be held in the house. I hoped it would put Dad to rest. Margaret arrived several days before to help. This time, she was sans R.V. and stayed in my father's old bedroom. I told her I was being haunted.

We took care of necessary business the next day. Afterward, we went to the Mall. I purchased a pair of fringed boots and some chic tops. These were the 1st purchases in a long time that didn't come from a Second Hand Store. I told Margaret my father would never approve of my spending that much money. Once he made a big issue of the fact I'd spent $15. of my own money in a Dollar Store.

"When we get back, every fan in the house will be spinning!" she kidded.

I had the house professionally cleaned. Also I ordered several platters of food from the deli for after the service. Margaret helped me prepare.

At the Sunday memorial, I was offended when half the guests arrived wearing shorts. That was disrespectful! I regret not stopping them at the door and telling them to go home and attire themselves appropriately. They should have been in church clothes!

Anyway, the event turned into more a celebration of my father's life than a memorial service. It began and ended with the stirring Bocelli & Brightman rendition of TIME TO SAY GOODBYE. In between soft, lilting music played as everyone shared a memory. I hoped Dad was finally at rest. -- He wasn't!

I was ready to move on, now. I was hurt that so many of the people who wanted every detail of my father's illness now behaved as if I'd been cremated right along with him. -- I was wearing my fire retardant suit that day. But I was still burned!

Suddenly there was an explosion of quiet. I could actually hear my own thoughts, and listen to the TV or radio at a volume that didn't blast my eardrums. Also I didn't have to scream sentences repeatedly to make myself heard. My pleas to my father to get a hearing aid had literally fallen on deaf ears.

At age 50 yrs old, my life had been small, suffocating, and every day hurt. I was determined to change and expand my world. Everything that occurred before was now part of my history, period. I wanted to create a new and different life for myself.