Dad took a turn for the worse over the weekend and Mom didn't tell me, although I was becoming concerned because she was weepier than usual. When I got there this afternoon she and my sister had left to go home and my nephew and I spent some time with him. He was not at all responsive. He was on a mask, oxygen as high as it goes on a concentrator, and fighting for every breath. He was a handsome man, 6 feet tall, and was 150 pounds when he died. Apparently they never completely knocked the pneumonia out and he went into septic shock.
We had just finished dinner when the call came. He died at 5:50 pm. He fought hard but lost, although it's a blessing. He is no longer suffering and lonely.
He was a good man, with a sharp intellect, dry wit, and love of knowledge. He was as honest as the day is long, with morals that were clear and unwavering. He is the man who explained to me that it is harder to be an atheist than religious, because we have to do the right thing just because it's right.
My brother and his wif and a daughter are flying in from Ghana on Friday and we will have a small, private viewing Saturday night. No minister. He will be laid to rest as he lived, with dignity and love.
Here is the poem we will read:
A Man's a Man for A' That
By Robert Burns, 1795
Is there for honest poverty
That hings his head, an a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by -
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an a' that!
Our toils obscure, an a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.
What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodding grey, an a' that?
Gie fools their skills, and knaves their wine -
A man's a man for a' that.
For a' that, an a' that,
Their tinsel show, an a' that,
The honest man, tho e'er sae poor,
Is king o men for a' that.
Ye see yon birkie ca'd 'a lord,'
Wha struts, an stares, an a' that?
Tho hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a cuif for a' that.
For a' that, an a' that,
His ribband, star, an a' that,
The man o independent mind,
He looks an laughs at a' that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an a' that!
But an honest man's aboon his might -
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, an a' that,
Their dignities, an a' that,
The pith o sense an pride o worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may
(As come it will for a' that),
That Sense and Worth o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree an a' that.
For a' that, an a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That man to man, the world, o'er
Shall brithers be for a' that.
I will miss him. I adored him.
SuesquatchRN, BSN, RN
10,263 Posts
Please forgive my not having thanked every post yet. I am on a hideous connection and the site is slow today.
Thanks so much for your well wishes. It means so much.
I think the thing that's most dificult, aside from the obvious, is the anger we all have towards the nursing home. We kept asking them to put him back on oral intake, telling them that he seemed too weak. They lied to us flat out about the PEG feeding's adequacy and said that he gained weight when he actually lost 20 pounds. He had nothing left. He was in isolation because he was so sickly and the fools never realized that he still had pneumonia. He expressed thirst and hunger and they told us that that was false - the the feedings were adequate. While the nursing care was exemplary the medical care was poor at best and negligent at worst. The aides had opened the window so his soul could depart. That made me happy.
I'm staying on after the funeral to give Mom some support, although I need to be back for a pre-employment physical on Thursday. She is not doing well. In true WASP fashion she has eschewed the frosting to climb into a vodka bottle. We couldn't get her to bed until 3 last night, and she remembers none of the evening. She'll stop again, but this isn't a great way to cope.
She's lost. She kept asking if we were sure he was dead, and keeps crying about her Bobby being gone.
I threw out a set of sheets that were on the bed when we called the ambulance. We used them to roll him and wrap him. Mom can't look at them, nor can I. Neither of us can bring ourselves to throw away his shaving brush - yes, he still used shaving soap in a mug (my grandfather used a straight razor and had a strop in the bathrom) because it just seems so intimate a piece of him. Funny what things matter.
Thank you all. I know I'll be okay. I actually started smoking yesterday. Mom, Cindy (sister) and Bobby (nephew) all smoke a lot and it was too tempting in such a stressful time. But I luckily realized that I don't enjoy it anymore but would keep doing it so I bought some Nicorette and am chewing instead.
I ran a couple of miles earlier and that was nice and cathartic. The first half mile I ran and sobbed. The rest of the run I remembered.