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My dad is very ill.
I sit in his hospital room and watch him labor with every breath.
His voice small and raspy as he has very little air supply.
The IV needle poked into thin arms makes me hurt just looking at it.
His skin so transparent like parchment paper bruised and blackened
I prayed the tape would not hurt him more.
His cough is deep as the infection rattles around in his chest.
Time will tell if the medications will give him a few more weeks.
We know in our hearts we are not talking about months.
We are in a waiting room.
We have been here before when my husbands mom couldn’t fight the pancreatic cancer.
We have been here before when my husbands dad couldn’t fight the heart infection.
This waiting room is different for everyone.
Some people talk and talk and talk as if to they can cover the pain of their hurting hearts.
Some people go inward and reflect on things of long ago.
I am an observer.
Stepping back and watching, recording in my mind and remembering.
When my husbands mom was on hospice and her death was becoming very close I observed and wrote what I saw so others could read it later when their hearts were ready to receive.
When my husbands dad passed away I was also observing but not recording as much.
It is a different journey for everyone.
At some point in time we will all need to spend time in this waiting room.
Much like labor when a baby is born.
The anticipation and room full of emotions vary from person to person.
The death process is something we cannot rush.
As every breath becomes more difficult and every word is whispered.
We realize a life is passing before us.
It is a giving up of oneself and giving in.
It is realizing the fight is over.
My dad is very ill and this time is precious and sacred.
Will we have the strength to say good bye?
It is a question only those of us can answer
as we remain in this waiting room.