Over, Part Over
I Should Also Tell You...

The How

When we got there on Friday, it was March 25th, and he was reading the Kindle I’d gotten him for Christmas. He was in a hospital bed in the living room and looked thin and pale and waxy, but he was reading his Kindle. He told me I looked good, referring to my super-pronounced-looking pregnant belly, and I think I said something dumb, like "you too!" that I immediately regretted. 

But honestly, compared to how he'd look in just a matter of hours, it was true. 

Noah walked in and surveyed the room. “PopPop, you sure are sick, aren’t you,” he observed matter-of-factly.

Ezra, thankfully, did not parrot my pre-visit explanations, but merely stuck his finger in his mouth and requested PopPop make his trademark popping sound with his finger and cheek. He obliged, laughing. Ezra giggled, as delighted with the trick as I’d been as a kid.

We hugged, we talked, we gossiped. He teased me about my hair, which he has not particularly liked since I dyed it red. “It’s looking better!” he said earnestly, referring to the neglected, washed-out, two-inches-of-dingy-blond-roots state it’s currently in.

Jason and the boys left to stay at his parents’ house; I stayed behind to keep my mom company. She slept on a recliner in the living room. I went upstairs to sleep in their room, where I was randomly unnerved by the sight of my dad's verse-a-day calendar, still stuck on the Friday from the week before -- the day he agreed to stop, to in-home hospice, the last time he'd been upstairs in his own house. 

Photo (7)

By the time I woke up on Saturday, it had already begun.

***

Death is ultimately cold, but his started out hot. A fever. Sleeping more and more. Confusion. Disorientation. He was saying things that didn’t make sense, reaching for medications he’d already taken minutes before. We thought, at first, that he'd simply taken an extra Benadryl. Yes, that was what was happening. That explained it. Move the medications away from his bedside, problem solved, here's your Kindle. 

His nurse visited and floated the idea of moving him to their full-time hospice facility. He said no.

He asked for a drink but spilled juice all over the place. We blamed the cup. Probably better off with a lid and a straw anyway, right? That's the problem, surely. I went to the store to find some kind of grown-up sippy cup, eventually stumbling upon some plastic sports cups with obnoxious, cheesy sayings on them.

This was the first one I picked up off the shelf:

Photo (5)

That bit of gallows humor was too much for even me, so I dug around until I found one with an ugly but inoffensive fishing pier design on it instead.

He never really woke up enough to use it. 

***

I went over to my in-laws to spend some time with the boys. I packed up dinner for my mom and I (Julia Child’s beef bourguignon, courtesy of Jason), but was interrupted by a text message. Come, hurry, something’s wrong, bad, nurse is here again, etc.

I jumped in the car and floored it, called my mom to tell her I was on my way and she asked if I could stop somewhere and buy some liquid Tylenol for my dad’s fever -- he wasn’t awake enough for a pill and his fever was scary high.

“I PACKED THAT. HANG ON,” I shrieked and made a u-turn back to my in-laws and our luggage, where I dug out some generic children’s acetaminophen from the stash of medicines we drag everywhere now and promptly dashed out again.

The nurse tried. He gagged and choked after barely an Ezra-sized dose of a teaspoon. He was on fire, the hottest fever I’ve ever felt from human skin.

She mentioned the hospice pavilion again, gently hinting that it was simply not going to be possible for my mom and I -- neither of us with any nursing backgrounds, nor clearly especially level-headed in the face of a medical crisis -- to keep him comfortable and pain-free at home from this point on. He was so out of it, she said, it was unlikely he’d ever really even figure out that he’d been moved at all.

My mom worried about money because their insurance would only cover a five-day stay. The nurse assured her that arrangements could be made, that no one was ever turned away from their facility for an inability to pay, etc. 

But I could tell she knew already. It wouldn’t be more than five days.

I hid in a coat closet and called my sister, crying because we didn’t want to go against his wishes, but oh. Oh. Oh. We can’t do this. I can’t do this. Mom can’t do this. It’s happening so fast.

Finally, I rationalized that Dad’s wishes to “die at home” were more about not being alone and having us there than the actual physical spot on the map. Hospice meant my mom could stay by his side as his wife and not his caretaker or nurse, for the first time in years. Other people could handle the ugly, more indelicate parts of the dying process. He would understand, if we could fully explain it to him. Which of course, we couldn't.

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay,” my mom said.

Everybody got on the phone except for me. I sat next to him and held his burning-hot hand. I pressed his thumb into some molding compound so I could get a necklace made with the print, but his skin seemed melt right through without leaving much of an impression.

  Photo (6)

***

Jason rushed over so we could follow behind the ambulance to hospice. I remembered to put the stew in the refrigerator but would later realize I left two entire containers of milk on the counter. 

The hospice facility had TVs, a library, DVDs, CDs, a kitchen stocked to the gills with drinks and snacks and comfort foods for families. I saw a small playground outside. I drank some coffee and ate a chocolate pudding cup. Jason asked my mom if he could buy her dinner and she wanted fast-food hamburgers and French fries. He went to Wendy’s and brought us both back exactly that, plus Frostys.

It was exceedingly quiet. Carpet instead of tile, couches and recliners instead of vinyl waiting-room chairs. No machines save for oxygen, no drapes or beeps or boops or needles or vital sign checks. The nurses didn’t wear scrubs. They all looked like people I’d be friends with in real life, and I loved them immediately. They also did not administer any more Tylenol, explaining that the usual ways of administering it to an unconscious patient were too risky for my father and would only cause more bleeding. They turned up the air conditioning, took off his socks and put ice packs under his arms instead, which eventually brought the fever down enough for my dad’s eyes to open and for him to nod a bit when offered pain medication, which was rubbed directly onto his gums.

“Does he know where he is?” my sister worried and texted from afar.

“I really don’t think so,” I responded, at a loss to adequately explain the waking-sleep state he was in.

I made another run back to the house around 11 pm to get my mom her toothbrush and a change of clothes. When I returned the nurses had set up a bed for her on a cushy recliner, but told her she could climb in bed next to him if she wanted. “We’ll be here if you need us. But not if you don’t.”

***

I went back with Jason to his parents’ house and slept like shit. My mom texted in the morning that Dad was asking for me, which seemed beyond belief, and frankly, honestly, exhausting. Was last night a fluke? Did we overreact? Move him too soon?

Was this rollercoaster never, ever going to end? 

And was I actually admitting that I kind of hoped it would? 

I arrived and he was awake. He couldn’t talk, but was mouthing a few words and trying anyway. He recognized my face and voice. I called him Daddy and told him I loved him, and he struggled to say it back so I said it for him. I know. I knew. I always knew. He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. I promised we’d take care of my mom and Jason would take care of me and we’d all take care of the babies and everything was fine. Everything was fine.

He clutched my hands. He rubbed my arms. He touched my face. It was the most desperately perfect moment ever.

***

His eyes weren't open much longer after that. His legs twitched and his arms pulled at blankets and clothes and his oxygen cannula, which he’s worn for three full years now. He was breathing through his mouth -- a noisy, harrowing-sounding breath, full of blood and secretions -- and the nurse said we could probably go ahead and turn the oxygen off if he kept pulling at it, because he wasn’t getting anything anyway.

We pulled it off. There was no difference. I reached over and hit the power on the machine, plunging the room into silence, except for the sound of that terrible, death-rattle breathing.

***

My sister called in the afternoon and I held the phone next to his ear. At the sound of her voice, his face twitched into an unmistakable smile of joy. For just a second, then back to peace.

***

We had to leave. We HAD to. I’d gone through every possibility I could think of, but the fact was we had the final day of Noah’s evaluation on Tuesday morning and rescheduling meant we went back on a months-long waiting list for another open spot.  His IEP meeting was in a week and we wanted the results. We couldn’t miss it. Jason couldn’t get many more days off, I didn’t have childcare for the afternoons, it would take time to make arrangements for later in the week. A hospice nurse whispered that she could babysit the next day, on her day off, but the boys were clearly struggling with the situation and the lack of routine and I flapped my hands around helplessly until my mom grabbed my shoulders and told me to go home, it’s okay, she understood, and hell, he’d understand. Go take care of your babies.

I asked for a few minutes alone to say goodbye. I repeated everything I’d already said that morning. I kissed his head and shrunken cheek and tried to ignore his open mouth, which was seeping with blood from his gums, tongue and cheeks. It was hard to see, but hard not to as well. 

This time, he didn’t respond. His body was still holding on to a vital function or two, but honestly, he was already gone.

I left the room and immediately started sobbing like never before, as the not-exactly-earth-shattering realization that I wasn’t going to see him ever again hit me with the force of rush-hour traffic, oh my God, oh my God, it's not fair, it's not fair.

***

We got home in under three hours. I didn’t unpack. I took a bath and went straight to bed.

The phone rang at 3:10 am. It was March 28th. And it was over.

***

I cried for awhile. And then I didn't. And then I did, again.

Then I added a dark-colored maternity dress to my still-packed suitcase and bought a train ticket to go back up to my mom's house, again. 

Comments

Lilly

So incredibly heartbreaking. Hugs from Costa Rica, which is, like, really far but still. There's someone who thinks of you and cries with you all the way down here in Central America.

<3<3<3<3 to you and your family.

SarahB

God bless you and your family.

Karianna

What an amazingly beautiful retelling of a painful situation. XOXO.

Erin

I'm so sorry, Amy. xoxo

chris

"I called him Daddy and told him I loved him, and he struggled to say it back so I said it for him. I know. I knew. I always knew."

This, Amy. It's this. This is what stays. What will always stay. The most important.

Major hugs, sweetie.

La Rêveuse

I feel like this is a Mad LIb template that you filled in with different vocabulary words than I did but I had the same one, back in 1998, when my mom died. And that's awful and weird and I'm sorry but I pray that God gives you comfort. I know what you have to go through now, and it sucks a lot. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

m

I'm so sorry!

Life of a Doctor's Wife

Oh Amy. I'm so glad you got those moments with him. Thinking of you and your family.

Kate

I am so sorry for your loss. I hope there is peace for your family much sooner than later.

Two small things for what they're worth - this recollection of those final days is absolutely, breath-takingly beautiful. I've been reading since you were pregnant with Noah, and this is simply the best you've published on this blog. Heart-breaking and perfect in it's honesty.

Secondly - there are over 2,000 comments on your post announcing your dad's passing. I'm sure you know that already, but I just think it's amazing that so many people are out there feeling for you, rooting for you.

Danielle

so horrendous, I'm so sorry. You did a beautiful job sharing with us, as always.

Alyssa

Bawling.

I hope your Dad is at peace now. Im thinking of you and your entire family.

jLOVE

There are no words to ease your pain, no words to lessen the blow, no words to bring back your Dad. I'm so sorry Amy. I just lost my Grandmother the same way in November, same but different. It's exhausting to sit and wait and watch and pray. You pray for Peace, pray to take away the pain and ultimately pray for The End. It's a horrible situation. Your Dad was surrounded by Love and Family and Respect, I believe he knew that, felt it and carried it with him. It's so hard to be left behind with your memories. I hope your family finds your own version of Peace now. Take good care of each other.

meghan

That's one way to make a girl cry... Much love and prayers and hugs to you and your family.

Courtney

I am so incredibly sorry. Thinking of you and your family.

Eden

I couldn't help but cry when I read your description of your father during the last few hours you spent with him, and it's not 34 week pregnancy hormones. It was the exact scene I was in almost 5 years ago with my grandfather(when my father left, he became my father figure). I hope it helps you to know that a few times a year, I still cry when I think about him, but I cry while I laugh at the same time. I miss him so much, but I guess the way I (personally) dealt with his loss is I constantly think about all the amazing memories we have. All those times make me laugh out loud, and I am so glad he was in my life.

Debbeeanne

I am so sorry. Hospice is wonderful, and I am glad that your family was able to say goodbye to him in a dignified and peaceful way.

Susan

I'm crying reading this because it brings back so many memories.

He can rest now.

trishk

I am so very sorry!! Sending love and hugs to you and your family.

Karen

Fucking hell, Amy. My father passed away from cancer when I was in college so I know excatly what you're going through. When I got the phone call it was bittersweet because finally, after so long, IT WAS OVER. He wasn't suffering any more.

Please make sure you keep close to your mother in the months to come. Death is so hard on the ones left behind.

Chelsie

I can honestly and openly admit that I am crying. Big, ugly alligator tears. I hurt for you and your family, but at the same time, I'm glad your dad is with his Father and no longer in pain.

And now that I reread what I've just written, it all sounded so goddamned trite. I'm sorry.

Kat

Sending loves and hugs from England. I'm so sorry for your loss. Fuck Cancer.

Suzy Q

No matter how prepared you think you are, nothing hits like the death of a parent.

My deepest sympathy to you.

Kelley

tears at work. tears at work. I'm so sorry, Amy. I think you had the best last moments with your dad that you could ask for under the circumstances. Recognition and love.

Lorrian

Oh Amy. Oh, oh, oh. I ache for you. I have tears for you. Your Daddy is so lucky that you are his daughter. xoxoxoxoxo

Bethany

I am still praying for you and your family. Thank you for sharing the beautiful story of your dad's last days.

MommyNamedApril

so desperately sorry for you and your family.

Sarah

Thinking of you and your whole family. Get as much rest as you can. Thank you for sharing this story. These are eternal truths and people need to hear them.

JCF

Thanks so much for sharing your dad's last days. It sounds like you and your mom truly cared for him and loved him in the best way as he died. And he knew it. I've been praying for your family.

Liza

I lost my mom to cancer 5 years ago. I was 25. those hospice nurses are amazing people. I am sitting here crying at work, because I know these feelings. Everyone feels them differently, yet they are the same. So much the same. the love, the hurt, the feeling where it seems like you can't possibly take any more, but then you can. And then you can't, and then you can again. I'm so sorry for your loss and for your family. I am so happy for you that there was so much love in the end. thinking of you, your mom, and your entire family.

JB

My deepest condolences, Amy.

Katie

Oh, man... No appropriate words here to describe my sadness for you and your family, just wanted to let you know you are in my thoughts. I am so deeply sorry for your loss. Man, life can be so utterly cruel. Fuck cancer.

Bridget

Ugh, I sobbed through this, you wrote about it so well, and it brought back so much of my mom's death (at home, from cancer, with us in that sick place of pleading for her to stay and praying for her to have the peace to go). I totally understand and just want you to have a cheesy virtual hug. Because it SUCKS and there's just not much else you can say about death.

Christine H.

Thanks for posting that. My niece works in a hospice, and although I understood what she experiences and how important it is, your post drove it home. What an incredible service - I'm so glad that you and your family had those last hours being able to be his daughter, his wife...My heart aches for you.

Liz

Shedding many tears for you. I'm so sorry.

Liz

Shedding many tears for you. I'm so sorry.

Heather Ben

you guys did the right thing, the best thing, for him. He knows how you feel. and those conflicting feelings? it's okay.

so sorry for your loss.

HolyMama!

that must have been excruciating to live- and again to write. i don't know how you did it, but i'm grateful. (sobbing and snotting, but grateful)

NinaN

So sorry for your loss Amy. The hospice sounds like an amazing place for families in need of that. And the nurses......so amazing the work that they do.

NinaN

So sorry for your loss Amy. The hospice sounds like an amazing place for families in need of that. And the nurses......so amazing the work that they do.

Dawn

I'm so very terribly sorry for your loss; that was a beautiful and moving recounting of your dad's final days. I'm so glad that you were able to say your 'I love yous' and good byes and that you were able to be his family and not his caretakers at the end.

Sue

Sitting in my office, trying to eat my lunch while reading your beautiful post and crying. I'm so so sorry for your loss. May he rest in peace.

Crystal

I've never met my father, but I hope/believe that my husband and our kids will have the kind of relationship you shared with yours. I'm crying right now, for your family's loss--I wish I could give you a giant hug.

Mermil

I don't think I have ever read anything so honest in my life. Just reading this makes me feel like I've been hit with a baseball bat. I can't imagine how actually experiencing it must feel. Thank you for being brave enough to write this and share it other people. As my dad's health declines, I think I was something I needed to read.

Starrynite

This post is beautiful. Just beautiful.

You and your family are in my thoughts xxxx

Nerma

I am so sorry. I can't even imagine what you are going through right now. Hug your boys tight and love them like crazy.

kristen mcd

Oh Amy. Love to you all.

LilSass

With tears rolling down my cheeks, dear god I am so so sorry for you. In the same breath, I am relieved for you that the fight and the struggle and all the things you have felt guilty for feeling are over.

I'm sorry you are hurting.

And may your mother find a way to stay strong.

LilSass

With tears rolling down my cheeks, dear god I am so so sorry for you. In the same breath, I am relieved for you that the fight and the struggle and all the things you have felt guilty for feeling are over.

I'm sorry you are hurting.

And may your mother find a way to stay strong.

AmyC65

This must have been so hard to compose and relive, Amy. It is beautiful and sad and sweet and hearbreaking. Thank you for sharing your experience with us. My heart goes out to you all.

AmyC65

This must have been so hard to compose and relive, Amy. It is beautiful and sad and sweet and hearbreaking. Thank you for sharing your experience with us. My heart goes out to you all.

Annie

I wonder if you can ever know how important it is for people to write so well about this part of life. It informs so much - the decisions we all make for ourselves and for the ones we love - to KNOW this as much as we can. And, until we live through it ourselves, beautiful and articulate writing like yours is the best we have.

Suzanne

You conveyed exactly what my experiences were with hospice with my Mom almost six years ago and couldn't bring myself to write down.

Our most recent experience with Hospice, three weeks ago, was eerily similar to yours, but much briefer.

"I know, I knew, I always knew." Not only have you known, but the words you've written about your Dad over the years have conveyed to your readers how much mutual love and respect you and your parents have for each other. So we knew, too.

I'm not going to lie and tell you that you heal from losing your dad. You just don't. Eventually, you will find a new kind of normal. It's been twenty years here, and my dad is missed so very much.

Just like you will miss yours. And I am so terribly sorry that you've joined the ranks of us who miss our parents.

Missy

So so sorry for your loss. I have tears in my eyes. I lost my mother suddenly 5 months ago and am still in disbelief. She was a vibrant healthy 67. A book that has helped a ton is "When Someone You Love Dies"-- I highly recommend it. Warmest condolences to you and your family.

Plano Mom

I am so happy you got a desperately perfect moment.

Momma21

I have NEVER commented before, but I guess you could call me a stalker...I love reading your blog - I have to tell you that my heart goes out to you...I lost my daddy over a year ago - completely different way - but "the way" doesn't matter...the loss is the same. I am sitting here at working crying because honestly...I feel your pain!
I am so sorry you and your family are in my thoughts

Onna

I write this with tears in my eyes. Just one of many people I'm sure who have read the beauty of your words. Thank you for sharing your last moments with your father with all of us. Sending lots of love.

Bonnie Nager

I lost my mom nearly one year ago. "I know. I knew. I always knew." My heart goes out to you and your wonderful family. The new baby will bring you such joy.

lora

Again, I am so sorry you had to say goodbye to this man who meant so much to you.
I'm so glad that your family was surrounded and supported in those final days by the hospice staff. People who work hospice are amazing people, nearly angelic in their ability to comfort without being instrusive.
Thank you for being so brave in sharing this experience, leaving in the horrifying and hard as well as the last few moments of tenderness. I think of your mom, your family, and your siblings everyday, sending thoughts of peace and comfort in the midst of this terribly fresh loss.

Brooke R.

You've captured a heart breaking moment in your family's life with such beauty and grace. I couldn't stop the tears from flowing. I'm incredibly sorry for your loss.

Brooke R.

You've captured a heart breaking moment in your family's life with such beauty and grace. I couldn't stop the tears from flowing. I'm incredibly sorry for your loss.

colecam

So,so, sorry! But glad you both got to say goodbye to each other!

colecam

So,so, sorry! But glad you both got to say goodbye to each other!

Amy

I am so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing this. I somehow feel better prepared for the future having read it.

Roberta

I don't know how you even wrote this. I am sobbing with just the reading. Oh my god, so hard. I am glad you all got to be with him, that you got to be his "home" at the end. I am so sorry. My heart hurts for you and your family.

Carolyn

I just wanted to comment on how you talked about waiting for the roller coast to end and almost maybe hoping it would - I haven't lost my mother, but I have been almost losing her time and time again for the past two years, and I just wanted to say that those feelings are normal and I understand where you were coming from. It's like the world's worst band-aid and someone keeps ripping it off slow and how long can you, or they, take it? Nothing to be ashamed of and those sentiments were tough to vocalize, I'm sure.

I'm so sorry for your loss. Hugs and love to you and your family.

JDW

We went through this 11 months ago with my mother-in-law, who died of ovarian cancer. I remember at the time that we had tried to find websites with descriptions of what it was actually like to have someone actually *die* of cancer, but no one would talk about those last few days, probably because they are so horrible. Late nights, everyone sitting around the bedside, wanting to do something, there is nothing to do but to call the nurse and beg for her to up the dosage on the morphine, move pillows around and try to make her comfortable. The suddenness of how someone can be alive and talking and then within hours, their face changes, their breathing rattles, they stop being aware of anything but their own internal process of dying, and then the end. And when you have small children who are blissfully unaware of what is going on, it somehow makes it harder.

My deepest condolences.

souphead

i'm so sorry.
i know this must have been so hard to write. it's really beautifully written. i'm sobbing at my desk - again.
i'm so sorry.
fuck cancer!
sending *hugs*

Bren

All I can say is I am so SO sorry for your loss.

heather

So sorry *sniffle*

HereWeGoAJen

I'm sorry. Losing someone you love really sucks. I'll be thinking about you.

Kari

What an incredible read.

And it really sounds as though you gave your dad permission to pass, and that you did it with so much love.

I am so sorry for your loss, and so incredibly grateful to have read your words about it.

Beth

Much, much love to you.

laurie

You are an amazing woman, and I salute you and your amazing family during this really difficult and not-fucking-fun period. This was incredible to read, you really got to me.

Laurski

A beautiful piece of writing about something so painful and heartbreaking. You and your family are in my thoughts.

Schweeney

You do great honor to you father, the English teacher, with your prose and rememberance. I'm certain he's very proud of you and your accomplishments and am sure he will always be with you in your dreams and thoughts. Please accept my heartfelt sympathy.

Schweeney

You do great honor to you father, the English teacher, with your prose and rememberance. I'm certain he's very proud of you and your accomplishments and am sure he will always be with you in your dreams and thoughts. Please accept my heartfelt sympathy.

Miriam

I'm so glad you were there to say goodbye to your father. I'm sorry it was too soon, but isn't it always?

Christy

OMG Amy I'm so sorry. I cried and cried for you and your family as I read this. I'm so sorry.

I'm also crying for my family. Not that it matters much to you but I have some idea of what your going through. My mother in law has breast cancer. We moved from Montana to California so our daughter will have a relationship with her grandma and we have been living with her for 10 months now. We all love her so much. She is doing pretty good but doing everything holistically and she believes that she's getting better. We aren't so sure, but are super positive for her sake. I dread the day that she truely goes down hill and my baby looses her ReRe.

Christy

OMG Amy I'm so sorry. I cried and cried for you and your family as I read this. I'm so sorry.

I'm also crying for my family. Not that it matters much to you but I have some idea of what your going through. My mother in law has breast cancer. We moved from Montana to California so our daughter will have a relationship with her grandma and we have been living with her for 10 months now. We all love her so much. She is doing pretty good but doing everything holistically and she believes that she's getting better. We aren't so sure, but are super positive for her sake. I dread the day that she truely goes down hill and my baby looses her ReRe.

Kris

Oh, Amy. I'm so sorry for your loss, and send so much love to you and your family.

I'm honored that you were able to share this, and I was able to read it. It's very humbling, to know you were able to be with your Dad & say one last goodbye before he passed.

Hold strong, dear Amy. And again, rest in peace, Mr. Corbett.

Syl

My throat is tight. I'm sending you a giant virtual hug. xoxo

Megan

We lost my Poppop to liver cancer March 9th. My little sister was with him the last day when he was confused and crying. It sucks and its horrible and it breaks my heart to hear other people going through something this hard as well. My thoughts are with you and your boys.

Jaclynn

I can't even get through typing this without sobbing but there are so many people who love you and who's hearts are just breaking for you, and you don't even know us. I can't even let it cross my mind that one day I'll have to let my parents go whether I like it or not (which of course, I'll loathe with a passion.) How lucky for you to be able to say good-bye and know that you put even an iota of peace in your father's heart. Your father will ALWAYS be with you, all around you, in your heart, in your children. The saddness will one day someday be less, but your father's love and the memories you've created will be forever.

erin

Amy, I'm very sorry for the loss of your father. May you, your mom, and your family feel our love and comfort.

Becky J

Just wanted to add one more thinking of you and your family.

Lizgizzy

I'm so terribly sorry Amy. Thank goodness you were able to be with him in the end. No matter how bad it gets I think they know that you are with them and they are loved.

Amy

I am so sorry.. Wish I could make it better .

agirlandaboy

I'm so sorry for the rollercoaster of emotions you've all been on for months, but I'm so happy that you were able to say goodbye and "I love you" and be with him in the way he wanted you to be with him.

Hilary

This is the saddest and most beautiful thing I've ever read here. I am, like all the others, so sorry to hear this. Thinking of you and your family.

laura

I went through a near identical situation with my own, 55 year old mother this past November. It will be five months on Wednesday, and the hurt is still here...nobody can or will ever replace your father. Life is just so unfair.

Christina

My sincere condolences to you and your family.

Maya

Ohhh....Amy, and your mom, and sister and Jason and whole family...I'm so sorry. I wish it wasn't so....but I'm glad he is not suffering any more, either. He is at peace. I'm sure you've heard this, but please remember to take enough rest for yourself at this doubly hard time. With love and sadness from California.

Natalie

I know I've never actually met you but I feel like i have and I wanted you to know I love you and I am so sorry.

Leigh

I am so sorry. My very best wishes to you and your family.

Kellie

I can't even wrap my brain around this. I read this entire post with tears either filling my eyes or running down my face. To say I'm sorry seems so small and insignificant. And yet, I am. I am so incredibly sorry. Thoughts and prayers with you and your Mom; the rest of your family. And hugs. I know I'm a stranger but, I'm hugging you all in my mind, and in my heart, regardless.

BarbG

I feel like I just lost my own father. It is hard to admit how attached we have all become to you, Amy. My dad is 75 and has Parkinson's. I will be going through the same thing before long. You have already helped me. Thank you.

Dona

It was good you were there when you were and able to say goodbye. I thought about you a lot last week.

I lost my dad in October and while it still hurts, it does get better each day.

kristi

beautifully written, heartbreakingly real. so very sorry for your loss.

amy

This is so sad, and yet so absolutely stunning and beautiful. I, again, am so very very sorry for your loss. Condolences to you and your family.

NTE

I wish I had something stronger, better, more worthwhile to say then I'm sorry, but it's what I've got. Just know that you are in my thoughts, and I'd hug you if I could.

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