As one expects, today has been filled with some laughter, some tears, some quiet time holding my father’s hand.
As I write on Thursday evening, Pop is still hanging on, and still knew me when I said “good night.” His “Hi, son” when I arrived midday was a delight to hear.
And after working for several hours in his [very] dusty office, and displacing said dust repeatedly, I have a cough. Some Tullamore Dew is in the cup to fight said cough.
My eldest niece Kristen is a saint. She’s an RN, and she has been the caregiver d’extraordinaire these last two days. She’s also run interference and explanation with the professionals from hospice, about whom I cannot say enough good as well.
We dined tonight, my sisters and niece and step-sister and step-mother, at the dining room table, with me now at the head, on a roasted chicken, some new potatoes, green beans, and yummy strawberry cupcakes. This was the first square meal I’d had in a few days, and I think we all needed it. Part of my mission the next few days is to cook at least one meal a day.
As I commenced Operation OfficeKP today, I found a few bonbons that I’ll share: my father’s National Guard photo from 1959, a clipping that was inexplicably attached to this same photo, and a handwritten verse of scripture in his meticulous penmanship.