An old man's death

Wearily he sits in his usual chair. Maybe no one will notice how tired he is and how much it hurts. His oldest granddaughter knocks on the door and opens the door.





"Hi grandpa. How are you today?" She gives him a hug and sits the plate of cookies in front of him. Her fiancé steps in behind her with a gallon of fresh cow's milk. He hadn't had that since he was a boy. Yum!



He smiles. "When are you getting married??"



She pauses. A different reaction that usual. Usually she says, "Not sure yet. We'll let you know."



"October the eighth."



For a split second he thought there was hope after all. October wasn't too far away. He could make it until then. That would only be a month after the six month mark the doctors gave him back in March. Then she adds….



"Next year."



He didn't know what to say. He'd never make it that long. He knew he couldn't. For a moment, she caught the distress in his eyes, but he looks away quickly – back at the cookies and milk. "Thanks for the cookies." He takes a bite of one and smiles. Just as good as he remembered. "Get me a cup of this milk, boy."



He quickly grabs a cup from the cabinet and fills it with the thick rich milk and hands it to his fiancé's dying grandfather.



He takes a huge gulp. "I guess you're not so bad after all."



"Okay, grandpa, we'll see you later, we have to go now." She waved and headed toward the door.



"You just got here." He knew he'd have little time to make up the lost years with her, but he wanted to try. But where did he start. He hardly knew anything about her – other than she made delicious cookies.



"We have class tonight. College. We don't want to be late."



He just nodded.



***



She sighed.  "Did you see the look in his eyes when I said it was next year? I want to finish school first… I don't want to rush things. I wish I knew how to tell him. I'd love for him to be there."


Her fiancé squeezed her hand softly. "We can get married this year if you want…"


She shook her head, not wanting to move up the wedding just for her grandpa. There was no way they could get married so soon – at least not having the wedding she'd always dreamed of. She had a hard choice – her grandpa or her dream. Since she didn't know the man that well, it really wasn't that hard of a choice, but she did wish he could come.


***


As the weeks go by, his condition worsens. His feet start swelling and he can no longer put his shoes on. Maybe his wife won't notice if he goes outside barefoot. Then he has trouble getting out of his chair unassisted. His hands are no longer agile enough to light the cigarette lighter. That doesn't stop him from smoking though. It's too late to stop now. The pain worsens – but still he puts up a strong front. He takes morphine twice a day, but soon that amount increases to three even 4 times a day.


People come and go. His youngest son mows the grass. His daughter vacuums and washes dishes. She stays to give him the medicine. He still fights. He doesn't want to give up. He can't give up.


He can't take a shower by himself. The Hospice nurse has to help him. Pretty soon, he can't even get up to use the bathroom and has to wear a giant diaper. This is humiliating.


People come to visit – family, friends, and neighbors. People he hasn't seen in years come to visit him. He's too tired and in too much pain to pay attention to them. He dozes off and on while his wife and daughter talk to them. He hears only snippets of conversation.


He sits in his chair, feet propped up and a blanket keeping him warm. They come and go to see him. "How are you doing today?" or "Hey there, dad" or "Hi grandpa" they say. Some simply come in and look at him. His dying form. Sometimes they make him take medicine. Sometimes they feed him. He always just sits there, staring at the television. After a few minutes, not a dry eye can be found. Even the toughest truck drivers or army veterans get teary eyed.


"Hi grandpa, I made you cookies!" It is a good day. He smiles and takes the plate. She looks at him waiting for him to eat one. When he doesn't, she offers to take the plate to the kitchen. He shakes his head and keeps the cookies. The girl steps out of the room. The woman gently breaks a piece off of one of the still warm chocolate chip cookies and feeds it into her husband's mouth. He tries to chew it, but gets choked. A nearby cup of water comes to the rescue to help wash the cookie down. The girl peeks back in from around the corner, a tear in her eye. She was too late making the promised cookies for her grandpa and he is unable to eat them.


"Grandpa, grandpa! Lets go fishing." The boy comes in and takes his grandpa's hand, trying to get him out of the chair.


Morphine comes once every 2 hours now. He sleeps. A lot. He hasn't eaten in several days, and he hasn't been out of bed either.


Okay. Enough is enough, he thinks. Get me out of this bed. I want to go outside. He weakly tries to sit up. His daughter rushes over, "Daddy, what's wrong?"


"Let. Me. Out. Of. Bed," he gasps.


"But it's 3:00 A.M. It's time to sleep."


Doesn't she know he's been in bed sleeping for days? It's time to go outside. He tries to sit up even more, as she pushes him back down. It took three of them to hold him down. He was too weak to stand up, and they weren't strong enough to hold him up; they were barely strong enough to hold him down.


That's when he really gave up. He hadn't seen his oldest son yet – but he was coming over tomorrow, Wednesday.


When he first stepped into the room, he could tell it wouldn't be long. His father looked horrible. He sat down in the chair next to him and just stared. What could he say? He was asleep – or too weak to open his eyes. Why was he still here?


"Dad… It's okay. It's okay to die now. It won't be giving up. Go see my mother again. Tell her how much you miss her – and let her know that I wish I could have known her. I've seen pictures of you two. You were very happy together. Much happier than you were with the woman who raised me – and happier than with the woman you're married to now."


The dying man gently squeezed his oldest son's hand in acknowledgement. He didn't go right then – not in front of his children. Not today. Today was October the Eight. He had to wait, just a few more hours. When he opened his eyes again, he saw his daughter sleeping in the chair. He had an ink pen and paper nearby. Maybe – just maybe he could reach it.


He didn't want to wake her up, but he had to tell her one last time.


Weakly, he wrote in his shaky handwriting, "I love you. – Dad"



It was now midnight. October Ninth. One last gift to his oldest granddaughter. The Eighth would be her special day. Not this yer, but next. It was 12:15 now.





It was getting so hard to breathe, and the pain was excruciating. A bright light shone in from the ceiling. That's not right. He heard a soft voice. A voice he hadn't heard in forty-five years. The voice of his first love. How he missed her so. He jumped at the chance to see her again as his body fell limp on the bed, a slight smile still evident on his face.