It’s been a month, today, since my father died.
We got the call that his vitals were dropping, fast. We got there, my husband and I, my mother and my sister. I won’t forget the smells or sounds from room. We were talking to him – they checked his vitals again and told us it would be a matter of time – of course, we didn’t know how long. My mother needed something to drink, so my husband and sister went to get her something – and me. My husband was worried that my blood sugar was getting low. I remember watching my dad, my mother was crying telling him how much she loved him. I held his hand, trying to warm it up. I was looking at the stubble growing in on his chin and his throat caught my eyes. I noticed his adam’s apple wasn’t moving as fast. I started counting the seconds between the movement – it was getting longer between each breath. My mom noticed what I was doing and started watching him, too. I moved my hand to his chest, I could still feel his heart, but I knew what was happening. My sister and husband walked in, shortly after this started – I couldn’t answer their question. My mom had her hand on his chest, as well. My hand stayed on his chest until his body let out the last breath – the final one. I remember reading a book, years ago, How We Die (I think that was the exact title) and learning they call it the “death rattle” – there is this sound that will never leave my memory.
Not only did I watch him die, I felt it, too.