Hillard Sarver | + Follow Poet |
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Death Watch

Death Watch

It was early morning.
The sun was barely above the high hills on the other side of the lake.
I was at the end of the dock slowly reeling in my line.
I could see fish jumping from time to time further out in the water.
However, none came close enough to be tempted by my bait.
My line was now the whole way in.
I decided it was time to give up for the morning.
After all fishing was not about catching anything for me.
It was about watching the lake.
Enjoying the small waves slowly lapping against the shore behind me,
Watching as the last wisps of fog burned away in the warming sun.
It was about looking forward to another beautiful day.

I turned around and zipped up my tackle box that lay on the bench.
I did not want to lose any of my fishing gear.
After all it was my inheritance from my father.
My dog slowly got up from the dock he was laying beside me while I fished.
I smiled at him.
Just like my dad he too would pass on.

I thought back to my last night with my dad.
He had been fighting cancer for a long time.
At least, it felt like a long time to me.
It attacked multiple parts of his body,
His colon,
His kidneys,
His lungs,
As time went by his body slowly wasted away.

He was a strong proud quiet man.
He worked hard all his life.
In fact, even with his cancer he kept working.
Just as he had done ever since I could remember.
Even in pain, he would still get up and go to work at the foundry.
He would come home all coated in gray.
I remember seeing the gray ring in the bathtub his end of day baths would leave behind.
I think about the constant attack his body had to endure.
I remember thinking when I was young he is strong he will never get cancer.
Nevertheless, you see cancer does not care how strong you are.
It does not judge how good or bad you are.
How healthy you look on the outside does not matter.
It just is and it has a job.
To consume all that is good.
All that is healthy.

Finally, in the last weeks he was too weak even to get out of bed.
A bed was set up in the living room.
He could watch television as he lay there.
One of the last joys of his life he could still do.
I was living about four hours away at the time.
I would travel back and forth and spent what time I could with him.
It was now the last week of his life not that anyone knew at the time.
I remember the hospice nurse.
She told me and my mom most would have passed on by now.
She said his pain level, and his morphine levels were the highest she had ever seen.
That was my dad, he could handle pain and his body processed drugs very fast.

It was now Thursday night.
Everyone was in bed.
I slept or tried to sleep on the couch in the living room.
I could hear my dad's labored breathing.
I lay there trying to sleep.
I was going to drive home tomorrow morning I needed my sleep.
I heard the clock bell that was on the church chime twelve times.
I grew up with that clock.
Every night as I lay in my bed while still young,
I would hear it chime softly in the night.
Tonight, it was not comforting like it normally was.
His breathing was all over the place.
He would sometimes mumble or try to say something.
I heard the church clock chime once.
I finally fell asleep shortly after that.
I awoke with a jerk.
I lay there what was it.
I did not hear the clock chiming.
I did not hear anything abnormal.
Then I realized what woke me,
A lack of noise,
I got up checked my dad.
He was breathing but very slowly and softly.
He looked almost peaceful,
As long as I could overlook the gray sunken look in his face,
Not see his wasted once strong body.
I held his hand felt his weak warmth.

I went into the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea.
No one else was up yet.
The sun was just starting to push back the darkness.
As I finished my tea, my mother came downstairs.
We quietly silently ate breakfast together.
The morning progressed.
The hospice nurse showed up as she did regularly.
She changed his bags.
I asked her how long did she think he had.
She said I really do not know.
She said it is a surprise he is still here now.
I nod quietly.
She leaves,
Others some friends some family come and go that morning.
Finally shortly after lunch it is time for me to drive home.
I touch my dad's hand gently.
He looks so fragile I do not want to squeeze his hand.
He grasps my hand with a strength that surprises me.
He lifts his head a little from the pillow.
He is trying to tell me something.
I can't understand him.
The morphine and the pain has taken away his ability to talk.
He keeps trying.
I keep trying to understand, but I can't.
I tell him it is okay not to worry.
He tries harder to tell me.
Still, I cannot understand.
He lowers his head and relaxes again.
I slowly let go of his hand and leave.
It was a long drive home.

I knew my aunt his older sister was going to be there this afternoon.
So as I drove home, I was glad about that.
My dad had two sisters both older than he.
His mother died while he was very young.
His sisters raised him as their baby as far as they were concerned.
They both loved him very much,
Even the one that when they were still kids got mad at dad, for some reason.
She got a hatchet and hit him over the head with it.
She assured me it was the blunt end.
I got home late afternoon.
My dogs greeted me upon entering.
I had two at the time.
They were brothers.
Sometime after I got home not sure how much time passed.
The phone rang.
It was my aunt.
She told me my dad had passed away at about 5 pm.
She told me that he got very restless again trying to get up.
She held him down and told him it was Friday.
She told him it was after four and his workday was done.
Finally, he relaxed.
His breathing got slower and then stopped.
His work was done.

Copyright © Hillard Sarver | Year Posted 2016

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