Strangely Familiar, and Yet…

Dearest Rachel –

Well, honey… here we go again.

I can see his skin stretched across his collarbone and rib cage as he lies in his hospital bed. He’s down to skin and bones, but at least his salt and sugar levels are down to normal – or at least considerably more normal than they were on Friday. Still, it’s eerie to see the ghost of his father as he lies here, only occasionally able to form distinguishable words. The only difference is in the number of wires protruding from him for one therapeutic or another, as technology marches on from one generation to the next. Still, the age-old aging process remains the same.

It’s a sight you might remember from nearly five years ago, when he was first struck down with sepsis. And while he fought his way back from that – in a campaign that even the medical professionals admitted to being nothing short of miraculous – and though he is improving from the start of the weekend – this doesn’t look like he will be as successful this time around. He is older, and weaker than he once was, honey.

Not that we’re counting him out just yet, though; he’s been at death’s door before, and turned away from the threshold. At your memorial service, there were jokes about how his cousin Dennis might have greeted you upon your arrival with no small surprise, wondering aloud where Ralph was; he was supposed to be there, not you. And with his vitals slowly but steadily improving, his time may yet be staved off once again.

But he can’t hold it off forever.

You’d think I’d be broken up about this, like I was back in the day, when it seemed that he might go at any minute. But for some reason, I have to admit that I don’t feel all that much about it at the moment. In fact, what really bothers me about the current situation is that it doesn’t bother me. What’s wrong with me? This is my father; the man who raised me to be who I am (for better or worse – although if it’s worse, that’s entirely on me, as he set The Example for how to be a godly man, and everything that entailed. If I fall short, it’s not from lack of effort on his part, that’s for certain). Shouldn’t I be agonizing about his potentially imminent departure?

Did you find yourself asking these sorts of questions, honey? Or was your dad’s passing so much more sudden (and you being so distant, relatively speaking) that these thoughts didn’t have the time to come to mind?

I know you were of two minds about your mother; it hurt you to have to admit it, but you did admit that you would have wished that she had gone first, both because of her mental decline (she couldn’t take care of herself like your dad might have been able to – although that was iffy in its own right) and the fact that you were Daddy’s little girl first and foremost.

***

Honey, the rest of this letter was supposed to be a description of Mom and my trip to a local rehabilitation center/nursing home where Dad could get 24/7 care, once he was released from his hospitalization. It would have been something to compare against the time we took your parents, seven years ago this month, to several such facilities, to drill into their minds the options they had if they refused to have live-in nursing care. At least in my case, Mom doesn’t need it for herself, but Dad’s situation would be more than she could handle on her own; she’s come to accept that it’s time to call in professional assistance.

However, I literally just got a call from her a few minutes ago, saying that trip has been cancelled. There’s been a worsening of Dad’s condition; something having to do with his respiratory system, maybe pneumonia. He’s on oxygen now, and there’s little chance of him being released at any point in the near future. In fact, it’s quite possible that the only way he’s going to leave the hospital at this point is in two parts; his body will be left for interment, while his spirit will join you and the rest of those who went before him.

This is strangely familiar, honey; we’ve been told this before, and I believed it then, too. At least at this point, it feels like we’ve had time to brace ourselves for it – although when it’s imminent like this, none of us are ready for the moment, no matter how much mental preparation we’ve put ourselves through. I really thought he might recover, at least long enough to see his birthday and Christmas; despite making nearly eighty-five trips around the sun, it still seems just a little bit too soon.

At the same time, I can’t think of anything more I need to say to him at this point.

Like with you, I don’t have any regrets about stuff left unsaid, issues unresolved. I would have liked for him to have been able to track me across the Pacific (although when he went into the hospital, I did worry about if I should cancel my trip if there was the possibility that he would pass while I was half a world away); I would have liked him to stick around until I found ‘Megumi’ (I sort of felt his life was the trade-off I had been forced to make for yours; he would support and advise me until I made the connection that would fill your old role). But that might have been asking too much of both him and God; I really don’t know.

Keep an eye on him, honey, and if he shows up before I get a chance to write you again, make sure it’s a big celebration. As for us left behind, well… we could still use a little luck, especially if he’s to stick around for a while yet. In any event, just check on the place that’s prepared for him; not that God will be caught by surprise, but it had better be ready for him, just in case.