Almost three weeks ago, at the age of 93, my father had major surgery to correct a twisted sigmoid colon. He really had little choice; the colon was completely blocked. He made it through the surgery without complications and we hoped he would recover. He suffered from Post Operative Delirium and while that improved a little with time, his overall health declined. Prior to surgery he was mobile, but we could see that he was losing strength. And while the surgery was necessary, it seems to have pushed him over the edge.

Following surgery, he wouldn’t eat or drink and fought against any and all attempts at physical therapy. Part of that was not understanding why they wanted him to sit up in bed or try to take steps. And part of it was the pain he felt every time they tried to move him.

In his moments of consciousness, he made his wishes very clear. Kill me, he would say. Shocking at first, then it became his mantra. After a while we found humor in his pleas. But we came to understand that he didn’t want to live with the greatly diminished quality of life that lay ahead. We did our best to encourage him, but in the end, his will would be done.

He’s been in hospice for about a week now. Every day we ask about his blood pressure, his heart rate, and listen to his breathing. He has been sleeping the entire time, assisted by medication to manage his pain.

As I write this on Wednesday evening, August 2, 9:16 PM, his breathing is short and shallow. His hands and feet are warm, his blood pressure very low and his heart rate is high. What does all of this mean?

Fourteen years ago I was at my mother’s side when she drew her last breath.

I’ll leave here in a few minutes and get some rest. He may pass in the night. Or he may not.

My faith tells me that when he does, he will reunite with my mother. He will be in the presence of God.

And he will be happy again.