Mary's Father

Mary walked in the small apartment. Her father lay moaning near death on the bed. A DNR order was taped to the cracked wall above his head.

She set her purse down on the old card table where up until a week or so ago they had kept her father's medicines and medical supplies. Most of them were put away now that the decision was made to no longer purling his pain and just let him slip away.

He seemed scared today.

"Your ride's almost over, Pa. We'll be ok on our own. You can let your ride end. It was long and fruitful. This last bumpy stretch will soon be over." She whispered to him. Days ago she was told to say her goodbyes to him. She couldn't do it then. Now in this quiet solitary time she suddenly had with her father, it seemed necessary.

She offered him some water that dribbled more down his chin than into his mouth. She took the towel that was one of the few things still on the card table and wiped her father's mouth. His eyes darting to horrors on the ceiling only he could see. As she dabbed his face, he pulled his blanket higher up to his chin.

Mary knew her mom was waiting back there. It was too painful for her mother to be in this part of the apartment for any length of time in these unpleasant, stressful days.

Stopping to pull a comb out of her purse and run it through her shoulder length hair, it was more a stalling tactic than vanity. She took this time to gather up her emotions before going to the back and talk with her mother.