"I'm Not Afraid of Leaving This Earth."

Thursday, 10 August 2006

Dad's condition is worsening quite rapidly right before our eyes. Besides the neck and shoulders pulsating when he is sitting up, he gets short of breath easily when doing routine things. He can only last about ten minutes sitting upright when I feed him. Then I need to recline him and finish feeding him while he is lying down. Sitting upright in the commode chair is difficult after a period of time. When I bathe him, I need to recline him a bit, so that there is less pressure on his diaphragm. Today, as I bathed him, he mentioned that my stepmom asked him where he wants his funeral. He said he wants to have the service at Kamehameha Schools and to be cremated, for us to spread his ashes over the ocean and at golf courses, and for us to keep some for ourselves too. He explained to met that he doesn't want a ventilatork, as he doesn't want to burden us with the cost and care of maintaining him on the invasive breathing machine. He just wants to use the BiPap and go with noninvasive devices. He simply said, "I'm not afraid of leaving this earth."

My friend Leigh, who is a nurse and yoga teacher, said that there is some comfort in knowing what he wants. Many people who come through the hospital do not know their loved ones' wishes, and it can make the situation even more emotionally stressful. Of course it saddens me. We haven't made video tapes or audio tapes yet. We'll have to do it soon, if he's up to it. Talked to my brother Jay about it tonight. We both know his condition is declining fast.

After 6:30 pm yoga, I went back to Dad's to join his friends for dinner. Auntie Cori, Uncle Steve, Auntie Sharon, and Uncle Frank brought over food for their ritual Tuesday/Thursday evening visit with Dad. His old co-worker Don took him for another wheelchair ride this morning, this time from his house to Kaimuki Park. What kind friends he has. Dad mentioned to Auntie Cori how easy it is for her to scratch her forehead, one of those things we take for granted. Although I know it's hard for him not think about his condition, Dad laughed a lot tonight, and I will never forget his joyous, bright eyes. It was so great to see him smile.