Say Goodbye

                                                        Say Goodbye

It was like watching sand fall through an hour glass - grain by grain, knowing there was a finite amount of time available before it would run out. After that, it would be finished, complete and a life would end.

Bloated from water retention, Sylvie examined his sausage-sized fingers, the long, white hairs curling off in every direction. She first lifted his hand to make sure it was flesh. The lighting made it look as though it were made of wax. Her father’s breath was shallow, stopping for periods of time and resuming with a deep shudder. It wouldn’t be long now, the nurse said, as she checked his urine bag and moistened his lips with the same type of Chapstick that Sylvie had in her purse. It would never seem the same to her again. Anything used during the midwifing of her father’s death took on a new importance. Chapstick would be one of the things she would never forget.

They had been saying, ‘it won’t be long now’ for the last three weeks, and as if to deny them, he hung on. Her father had fought every step of his life; why would his death be any different? He had wanted to stay home but it became impossible to care for him. The car was silent as they drove him to Hospice House - a facility created to help the dying and their loved ones through the experience with some kind of grace. 

“If you take me there, you may as well bring a shovel,” he’d said.

“Go there and have a rest Jack, regain some strength - you can go back home again,” the Doctor said, trying to entice him. Sylvie thought the doctor was probably worried about her mother. Long years of caring for her father had taken their toll. Sylvie could see the exhaustion hovering behind her mother's eyes waiting to obscure any pleasure she might feel.

It had been a solid week and Sylvie hadn’t left her father’s side. Her sister and brother were both at work, and her mother only came for a few hours each afternoon and again before bed. Self employed, Sylvie had the time to stay and she found herself unable to leave.  It was during this time that a thought had been born, and no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, it would not die. What if her father woke up, and in his last moments of life, she told him the truth.

Her brother and sister were adamant she keep quiet.

“Let him go in peace,” her bother said.

Her sister thought that it was unfair to lay that on him.
“You had a lot of chances when he was well,” she said.  “It’s not his fault you never said anything.”

They were right, of course. How fair was it to tell your frightened, dying father he sucked as a parent.  It would be like dropping someone off  - knowing she would never see them again - and saying, “BTW, you were a failure at the most important job you had in your life,” and then, just driving away.

She knew it was wrong but the thought persisted.

He was a hard man and growing up with him was no picnic. He was more of a disciplinarian than a father. He ran the house like a sea captain ran his ship and she and her brother and sister were his disappointing crew.

“Let them take an inch,” he said about her and her siblings.“ They’ll take a mile.”

True to his word, he never gave them an inch. The one time she remembers him coming to an after school event, he spent the entire time laughing. Her sister was playing grass hockey, and after the game, even though she had scored two goals, his only comment was that the other kids looked a lot smaller than her.  After that, no one volunteered information about their lives outside of the house again.

He was a difficult man to like never-mind any talk of love.

Sylvie remembered her father dragging her brother downstairs for beatings and she honestly thought he was going to kill him. Her mother was outraged when she told her that she hated her father. She would say, “Your father loves you!”

“Really?” Sylvie had asked her.

After her Father had arrived at Hospice House, he became violent. His fist had only just missed Sylvie’s face when she was turning him onto his side and he kicked her sister full in the face and gave her a bleeding nose when she was massaging his fluid filled feet.  After that, he had to be restrained and that made matters worse, he thought they were trying to kill him.

The doctor had decided to increase his pain medication and put him into a light coma.

“It will ease Jack's passing.”

With the increased pain medication, her father became silent, and for the first time in her life, Sylvie held his hand. She felt the rough, thick skin against her cheek and her fingers traced the small scars and calluses that had formed from his long years of hard labour. After a while, the stern frightening father began to fade and this quiet, peaceful man became more real to her. She realized that she was no longer afraid of him.

It wasn’t really a conscious thought to decreased the pain medication that her Father was receiving, and as she did it, she thought how odd it was that if she turned the mechanism one way, he would wake up, and if she turned it the other, he would die.

Sylvie was sitting at his side gazing out of the window when she felt the pressure of her father’s hand in hers, increase. She saw his blue eyes looking into hers. He was trying to speak, his mouth opening and closing without sound.

“Ssshhh, dad, I need to tell you some things.”

Her Father closed his mouth.

Wrong or right, the words spilled uncontrollably from her mouth. There wasn’t much time left.

The End