We sat today, waiting. Waiting for my dad to die.

 

He was moved to hospice this week, and a little after 11 this morning, they shut off the respirator.

 

My grandmother, cousin Velvet, her husband Mike, cousin John, brother Joe, his wife Jenny, stepmom Kathy, her sister Monica, K, Z and I all sat vigil. Prayed, sang, talked and laughed. Streamed music through an iPad and sipped coffee and tea.

 

Hours passed, and my dad kept on breathing on his own. Well, that surprises me not at all because like Frank Sinatra, he does things his way. 

 

In fact, 11 hours later, as we left, he was still breathing independently. Momma Kathy and Monica are there still, trying to get some rest.

 

On Saturday, our family met with one of the hospice workers, also named Kathy. She compared the process of dying to the process of giving birth. It can take hours, sometimes even days to fully complete.

 

So we wait.

 

Earlier, I whispered into my daddy's ear, "Give Jos a kiss for me." 

 

As I sat down, K said, "Did you see that? He just smiled."

 

K standing watch while John looks on.

 

 

Reflection for the day: I love you, Daddy.