Passing
This morning my phone started ringing at about 7 in the morning. A call was coming in from my father's cell phone.
"Hi, Dad," I said. It was a little early, but I was also too tired to notice that it was too early.
"Brian?"
It was my brother's voice. Again, I was too tired to realize how odd it was that my brother was calling me from my father's phone.
"Hey Teej (his nickname's T.J.), what's up?"
"Umm, I was just calling because, umm..."
He began in his customary unsure manner of speaking. He went on to tell me that he had woken up around his usual time to get ready for work and that he heard our father crying out his name from downstairs (they live together). My father was on the floor on the phone to 911 and handed the phone over to my brother. The operator informed my brother that my brother had called and was complaining of chest pains. An ambulance was already on the way, get my father laying on his side and try to make him comfortable.
An ambulance arrived within minutes and the operator stayed on the phone with my brother the whole time. My father seemed panicked, but lucid and then calmed down, but still looked "out of it," according to my brother.
The paramedics took my father into the ambulance while my brother waited outside. They told him the name of the hospital to which they were taking him
I told my brother I'd call my sister and that she'd then call him.
When I called her, she was immediately hysterical until I told her that he was fine and he was alive when he got into the ambulance. I would wait for her to call me back before I decided what to do. I'd just got back from vacation and didn't feel right not going back to work if my dad was all right.
When I got the phone call from my sister a couple hours later, he was not all right. He had actually passed on the way to the hospital, if not before. My brother said he'd seen them performing cpr and then attempting to revive his heart with the paddles, but that he couldn't really allow himself to believe what he was seeing.
Like I said, I'd just come back from vacation and I was feeling pretty good about life. I was rejuvenated and was making all these plans on enhancing my life. It's so weird.
My father hadn't told us about any health problems, but it turned out that he'd told a close friend earlier that week that he'd been having some chest pain. The friend told him to see a doctor, but of course my father didn't.
We'd all thought my father would die a slow death from lung cancer or cirrhosis of the liver or something. We'd forgotten that his father died at the young age of 58, before I was even born, apparently? My father was only 63.
At least he went suddenly and suffered little. My guess was that even if he sensed that chest pain was something bad, he'd rather not know and go suddenly than find out and live in dread of his own mortality. He was a very practical man.
Despite that, my siblings and I have found that he had no plan for his death. He'd set up a power of attorney in the case of his being incapacitated but living. No will. No instructions on his final wishes or what to do with his remains.
We're still undecided with what to do. My father had been a catholic, but hadn't been to church in years and years, We all feel that he'd want to be cremated and that he wouldn't want a big ceremony, but he was a teacher and my sister thinks something public might bring a student or two to pay their respects.
I feel like my father would say he doesn't care what we do and that everything that comes now is more for the living than for him, and I'm inclined to agree. Like I said, he was a practical man. I can hear him now, "whether you want to put me in a fancy box and fill up a church with people or you want to cremate me and have dinner at your sister's makes no difference to me. The way I see it, I'm already dead."
"Hi, Dad," I said. It was a little early, but I was also too tired to notice that it was too early.
"Brian?"
It was my brother's voice. Again, I was too tired to realize how odd it was that my brother was calling me from my father's phone.
"Hey Teej (his nickname's T.J.), what's up?"
"Umm, I was just calling because, umm..."
He began in his customary unsure manner of speaking. He went on to tell me that he had woken up around his usual time to get ready for work and that he heard our father crying out his name from downstairs (they live together). My father was on the floor on the phone to 911 and handed the phone over to my brother. The operator informed my brother that my brother had called and was complaining of chest pains. An ambulance was already on the way, get my father laying on his side and try to make him comfortable.
An ambulance arrived within minutes and the operator stayed on the phone with my brother the whole time. My father seemed panicked, but lucid and then calmed down, but still looked "out of it," according to my brother.
The paramedics took my father into the ambulance while my brother waited outside. They told him the name of the hospital to which they were taking him
I told my brother I'd call my sister and that she'd then call him.
When I called her, she was immediately hysterical until I told her that he was fine and he was alive when he got into the ambulance. I would wait for her to call me back before I decided what to do. I'd just got back from vacation and didn't feel right not going back to work if my dad was all right.
When I got the phone call from my sister a couple hours later, he was not all right. He had actually passed on the way to the hospital, if not before. My brother said he'd seen them performing cpr and then attempting to revive his heart with the paddles, but that he couldn't really allow himself to believe what he was seeing.
Like I said, I'd just come back from vacation and I was feeling pretty good about life. I was rejuvenated and was making all these plans on enhancing my life. It's so weird.
My father hadn't told us about any health problems, but it turned out that he'd told a close friend earlier that week that he'd been having some chest pain. The friend told him to see a doctor, but of course my father didn't.
We'd all thought my father would die a slow death from lung cancer or cirrhosis of the liver or something. We'd forgotten that his father died at the young age of 58, before I was even born, apparently? My father was only 63.
At least he went suddenly and suffered little. My guess was that even if he sensed that chest pain was something bad, he'd rather not know and go suddenly than find out and live in dread of his own mortality. He was a very practical man.
Despite that, my siblings and I have found that he had no plan for his death. He'd set up a power of attorney in the case of his being incapacitated but living. No will. No instructions on his final wishes or what to do with his remains.
We're still undecided with what to do. My father had been a catholic, but hadn't been to church in years and years, We all feel that he'd want to be cremated and that he wouldn't want a big ceremony, but he was a teacher and my sister thinks something public might bring a student or two to pay their respects.
I feel like my father would say he doesn't care what we do and that everything that comes now is more for the living than for him, and I'm inclined to agree. Like I said, he was a practical man. I can hear him now, "whether you want to put me in a fancy box and fill up a church with people or you want to cremate me and have dinner at your sister's makes no difference to me. The way I see it, I'm already dead."
posted by Brian at
6:46 PM
