Sitting with Dad

Sitting with someone who is dying is a hard thing to do. You don't always know what to say, or how to act. I had that problem for a while. I'd go over and I'd sit for a few minutes, then get up and wander to the next room and then go back and sit back down. It seemed like I didn't say much to dad. I couldn't really think of the words to say. Then as time went by, and I was with him longer, I discovered that even though he is dying, he's still a whole human being. He was still dad, just in a different situation. He still had the same interests that he always had. I learned to talk to him about things outside of the situation. I paid attention to his facial reactions to my conversations, and if he seemed distant then I knew he wasn't interested. I learned to let dad steer the conversation. I also learned to touch on things briefly then move on to another topic. Dad has never been one to ramble on anyway, so the way dad handles conversation might be a little different from how someone else in the same situation might feel. I also learned that just sitting with him in silence is just as golden as trying to carry on a conversation. You have to listen more than speak. It's ok to talk about dying to them. It's hard to broach the subject, but it's what's happening to them. I asked dad if it was ok to talk about his cancer and his eminent passing and he was more than willing to talk about it. I asked him if he was in pain, he said he was, but it was centralized in his lower back. I asked him what dying felt like, he said he couldn't really explain it, he felt differently in his body somehow. I was able to ask him if he had spoken with everyone he wanted to speak with, and seen who he wanted to see, and he said he had. It felt good to me to know that, and I wouldn't have known if I hadn't have asked. Dad talks about going to heaven. I honestly believe the way he feels is that he's got his bags packed and he's taken care of everything, like you do when you leave to go on an extended trip, and he's ready to go. Sometimes when he talks about it he cries, but I think it's because he's just so overwhelmed with joy that he's going "home". He speaks of people who he loved in this life that have died, and his voice cracks up a little. I can't feel anything other than happiness for him right now, his enthusiasm for the next life is contagious. I've always gone to dad for guidance before going to anyone else. I was confident that dad would always have the answers that I needed, and for the most part he did. Though this process of drifting towards death dad has been a teacher to me. He has shown me many things and allowed me to participate in the experience of his preparation for it. I want to be able to walk with dad to the gate that is death, and I want to be able to send him off with comfort.

The most important thing I have done with my dad was make sure that my relationship with him was "current". I have been able to clear up a lot of misunderstandings with dad in the past 10 years or so. I was able to confront him about alot of things that happened during my childhood that had remained with me as a painful scar. We've yelled at each other, and we've cried with each other through the years, and it was all good. I had made our relationship "current" and that has made all the difference for me, for us. I was able to have a relationship with my father, a relationship of equals. He is my best friend, and I am thankful that we were able to interact in each others lives as such and not as father/son.

The one thing that I never really had from my dad was hearing him tell me that he was proud of me. While he was in the hospital back in November he had that conversation with me. He told me he was proud of me, but I told him I couldn't imagine why. My life had been totally different than his in so many negative ways. I didn't grow up to be the "man" he had imagined or hoped I'd be. I always felt shameful because of that. Dad listed all the reasons for being proud, which weren't my intentions for him, but he did. It opened my eyes to him. I wasn't invisible to him like I had always thought I was. He doesn't feel ashamed of me like I thought he might. Having a gay son wasn't as big of a burden on him as I made it out to be.