The dishwasher is running as I sit at the kitchen table.  The sound of water wooshing and spilling over the dishes is a familiar sound for me over these past few days.  I’m not more than a few feet from my Dad at any given time and tonight is no exception.

To say that things have gone in an unusual direction might be an understatement.  My father’s determined living is a kind of remarkable moment.  Our hospice nurse, Rosemary, has visited each day for the past few days in a row.  My father’s condition is, according to her, very different.  She alerted the main doctor for hospice and he came to do his own assessment.  Then, he called in a gerontology specialist.  Through it all, my Dad was kind of over people poking him for the past few days.

What is unusual is his awareness and ability to communicate, clearly and forcefully, what he wants, and does not want, and to be able to answer more complex questions about his condition.  Yes, he’s dying, and he’s not out of it.  He is completely present and aware.

Which leads me to today.  Through it all, ever since I arrived a lifetime ago (one week in real time), he has said repeatedly, I want to get better.  It shifted today.  I called me into the room, asking for privacy.  He spoke lucidly and clearly.  He asked me what I believed would happen to him when he died.  He wanted to know specifically what I believed.  I explained to him my perspective on life and death.  After I stopped, he looked at me.  He asked to see all of the grandchildren.  One by one, he told them to “have a good life and be happy.”  Each one, in turn, made their way to hear what he had to say.  As the parade came to an end, he grabbed my hand.  I ushered everyone out of the room.  We sat, he breathed a sigh.  He was tired and turned on his side to rest, not letting go of my hand.

Rosemary came in a few minutes later, and she did vitals, checked his well-being, asked him questions, and took notes.  We spoke after she examined him, talked about vitals.  “He’s amazing” she offered.  As grandchildren and my sisters headed out and my family made their way to Atlanta and home, I stayed here, wondering what was coming next.  A neurologist has requested to come see my Dad, and when I asked he said no.  No more doctors, no more pokes…aside from Rosemary, she can come back, he said.

The nights are so quiet here in Georgia.  Aside from the dishwasher, it’s virtually silent.  I sit in awe of this moment and can only imagine what tonight or tomorrow will bring.