He Visits Me

                Do you think the people you love come to visit you after they die?

This is not about brain injury this week, but it is something on my mind.

Almost two years ago, my dad was living in a nursing home. He had pneumonia, was given antibiotics, healed from it, and got it again five months in a row. He was 87 years old and getting dementia symptoms. One thing he never forgot was ME.  

The nursing home called me daily, so my dad and I could FaceTime. Even if I was running errands, or in a store, I would leave my cart to go outside so I could hear him, and we would talk. The calls were short, and I appreciated them every single day.  

I decided enough was enough. He was weak, could not participate in life any longer, and his quality of life was what he said he would never want to live through.  He was put in hospice. One day, long, long ago, I said, “When you die, I want you to come visit me.” He said, “I will, if I can.”

I knew my dad was suffering from pneumonia for the last time and I knew that he was going to pass soon. On hospice you do not get medicine to heal you, only to keep you comfortable.

On his last day, it was different. I felt desperate to talk to him. I did not wait for the afternoon to come, which is when I normally received his calls. It was around 10:30 am and I quickly dialed the phone. Someone heard the ring and picked up, holding the phone to his ear. I heard him struggling to breathe. When he spoke, it sounded like someone talking under water. He was drowning in congestion.

I heard him say, “I love you, Dawn.” Holding back tears while my heart started racing, I knew this was it. Twice I pushed out the words, “I Love You, Dad. I Love You Dad.”

He then dropped the phone and all I could hear was him struggling to breathe. No one was there to hang up the phone. 30 minutes later, I called the desk to make sure someone had hung up. A man picked up. I asked if someone had hung up the phone in Sherwin Wasserman’s room. The man’s voice on the other end said, “He’s dead.” That was it. My heart dropped, the tears rushed, and I yelled at him for not telling me in a more gentle way.

The last thing we said to each other was, “I love you.” I remember hearing his voice and feeling like he was hugging me with his words. He did love me. He always loved me, and I believe he still does.  

What a beautiful way to end things.

Well, now I dream of him often. Last night, he came to me for a visit, old, and thin, and alive. He comes to see me often in my dreams. Maybe it’s my subconscious because I’m thinking of him. BUT, what if it’s not- what if it’s him keeping his word. All I know is, seeing him comforts me…