Gratitude

After a week of looking death in the eye, today, we celebrate

GRATITUDE

The release in my chest
When the purple sun rises
The jagged snow falls
The hungry baby cries
The thick milk flows
One hand reaches out
and another 
receives. 

---

Living with an aging parent is, at times, incredibly frustrating but also joyful, sometimes tedious, and often downright infuriating. But given the alternative – it’s also a gift.

Six days ago, in the middle of the night, I drove my dad to the ER. He hadn’t slept in days due to a viral cough. Reminiscent of almost two years ago when he was admitted for Covid, we drove in silence, knowing the other was thinking the same thing. Is this it?

At 5:30 am on the second morning in the hospital, I was jolted out of restless sleep by a ringing phone and my sister’s words, “Come now.” Upon arrival, my dad was delirious, moaning, gasping for breath, and unable to speak. This giant of a man was reduced to almost nothing. We took turns holding his hand and wringing our own. The doctor and nurses, having tried everything they could, finally decided to give him a good jolt of morphine to try to relax him enough to stop coughing.

When he finally went into a deep sleep, the first in many days, the morning nurse, a new one, walked in, caught our eyes, and just stood and silently stared at him for about five minutes. “I’m seeing Cheyne-Stokes breaths,” she matter-of-factly said. “It’s an abnormal pattern of breathing commonly seen as patients approach death.”

Wait, what? I thought I was prepared for this, but not really. When I had time alone with him, I whispered to him how grateful I was (and a few more things I had on my mind) and let him know, as I did with my mom, that it was OK to let go.

Since he was no longer in distress, we called in the local grandkids and my brother-in-law. Just after they arrived, he suddenly opened his eyes, sat up, looked around the room, and calmly asked, “What is everyone doing here?”

So here we are, almost a week later; the kids and I are brining the turkey, slicing the pears, and chopping celery while he watches a Denver Nuggets game with the dogs on his lap. Thanks to the passage of time, modern medicine, smart doctors, caring nurses, a pacemaker, hope, love, and maybe a miracle, Gramp lives on to enjoy another Thanksgiving Day.

While my dad was in the morphine-induced peaceful state, I wrote this:

November Sunrise	

The waves of energy
tracking your heart on the monitor
match the waves of sound
from Mozart’s Jupiter 
swirling through the room.

As the sun rises
to a glorious pink
under the Tetons 
you grasp for another day
between the sonnets.

Reaching a crescendo
backing down
rushing forward 
Cheyne Stokes breaths
bring you closer to your next adventure.

I wonder what is happening 
in your big beautiful brain
shaped by the desire for 
		justice
		love 
		frustration with human weakness
		belief in winners
		disdain for losers
		power and control.

Seeking transcendence
	Your breath matches the music
        Running. Dancing. Walking.
		Crawling. 
		Lying down in the 
		sweet soft meadow.
                Reaching for the stars 
                Accepting your life
		so you can let it go. 

May this post find you all in peace and with hearts filled with gratitude. Please share any thoughts or advice for standing alongside someone who is suffering.       

                                    Happy Thanksgiving and thanks for reading! 

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