March 1 - The Day My Life Changed

This has been a completely sucky year. And it just keeps getting worse and worse. Last Wednesday, I got the call I had been dreading. The doctor's didn't think Dad had more than 24 hours left to live. So Laura and I flew back to MN. We got there before the big snow storm hit. We decided to stay at the rehab center just in case. The nurses at the center were wonderful. They brought in a cot for us, and a tray of food, coffee and juices. I stayed in the room all night. Laura was there for part of it, then she switched places with Bonnie. Joyce stayed out in the little sitting room. But we didn't really sleep much of the night. Around 4:00, dad has a bit of a hard time, and both Bonnie and I thought it was his time. But he was just having problems getting comfortable.

In the morning, we all got up, changed clothes and ate breakfast. His breathing was becoming more labored and shallow. His pulse was still strong, but fast. And his face looked sunken. His oxygen was low so they increased it. They came in to clean his room and we stepped out.

After about 15 minutes, they were done. Bonnie went back. Joyce went to get a soda. Laura headed back, but Gerri called, so she took the call in the hallway. I was finishing up a page in the magazine, then went in the room. Bonnie had gone over to Dad and was holding his hand when he took his last breath.

Even though we knew Dad's time was coming, it was still hard. He wasn't there anymore. His body was getting colder and colder. The nurses came in to straighten him up and make him more comfortable. They called Hospice. Hospice contacted the University of Minnesota's Medical School and made arrangements for Dad's body to be taken away, as he was donating it. We all said our goodbyes.

While we were waiting for the Hospice doctor to come in, we were talking about Dad and we wondered what he was now experiencing. All of a sudden he lights flickered. We made a comment about the lights, and they flickered again. We know they had to be him. The lights had never flickered before or afterwards. So that was Dad's way of letting us know that he made it there safely.

So now we have to plan the memorial. How hard is that to do. He wants 2 Benny Goodman songs - And the Angels Sing and Let's Dance. So now we have to find those. And we're going to have a bunch of photos of Dad (which he'll hate).

But I feel so empty inside. There is something missing in me, and that's Dad. I knew I would mis him, but I didn't realize that it would be this strong. I guess that says something about my relationship with my father, and how positive it was. Gosh, i will miss him so much. Football season will be hard - I won't have him around to talk about what happens. My birthday will be hard - he won't be calling me to wish me a happy birthday, or won't be picking out my birthday card. His anniversary is on Friday - and I can't wish him a happy anniversary. I can still tell Bonnie, though, which is helpful.

I know time heals all wounds. I have to hope that will come quickly. And that I get a sign that he is okay.

Dad, I love you. Thank you for everything you have done for me. I'm lucky that I got you as long as I did.

Here's what we're putting in the memorial announcement:

For Those I Love
For Those Who Love Me

When I am gone, release me, let me go . . .
I have so many things to see and do.
You mustn’t tie yourself to me with tears,
Be happy that we had so many years.
I gave you my love. You can only guess
How much you gave me in happiness.
I thank you for the love you each have shown.
But now it’s time I traveled on alone!
So grieve a while for me, if grieve you must.
Then let your grief be comforted by trust.
It’s only for a while that we must part.
So bless the memories that lie within your heart.
I won’t be far away, for life goes on.
So if you need me, call and I will come.
Though you can’t see me or touch me,
I’ll be near.
And if you listen with your hearts, you’ll hear
All of my love around you soft and clear.
And then, when you must come this way alone . . .
I’ll greet you with a smile and say “Welcome Home.”

Eugene Victor Kleber
b. 7/7/1920
d. 3/1/2007