After the Fact

There’s no such thing as an easy death, not for the family or for the dying. But some are easier than others. Some leave a closure and completion and peace that many others do not.

I was lucky when Daddy died. He fought hard. But his body was shutting down. The cascading blackout went through just about every important system in his body. He wanted to give up, but promised me he would fight, if just for my sake. He tried, but that battle was not for him to win.

I have a strange sense of peace about the whole matter, one that I’m not sure I’ll ever understand. I’m sad, but at peace. Maybe it’s because he died surrounded by his family who helped ease him on into the next life. Maybe it’s that I loved him too much to see him suffering any more. And maybe it’s because withdrawing life support was the right thing to do on a level I don’t fully understand but have a glimpse of.

Right now, I’m still digesting it all. Some of it is real and some isn’t. Part of me wants to call him up and tell him what good gas mileage I’m getting with my new car. Another part realizes that I can’t.

It’s all so new, not having him around. I guess I’ll get used to it one day, but I’m not sure when.

When my mother and I were talking privately about the possibility of withdrawing life support, I told her two things: “You’ll know when it’s time, and it’ll be the hardest and the easiest thing you’ve ever done. Hard, because you don’t want to let him go. Easy, because you love him.”

I was speaking from my own experience of withdrawing life support from my first partner, Rich. It hurt like hell to say those words--"unplug everything"-- but it was the right thing to do and the right time to do it. It was my final act of love.

If I haven’t already said it, Daddy was a great man who led a simple life of quiet dignity.

He was able to die as he lived: with dignity.

For that, I am eternally grateful.

I did not want to let him go, but the choice was not mine.

He was a good man. A great man, even. But he was not ours to keep.

And when I said my final goodbye at the funeral home, I didn’t say “goodbye.” I said “I’ll see you later. Meet you on the other side.”