9 days
9 days. I moved into my parents’ house for 9 days at the very end of my father’s life. This is the longest amount of time I have spent with them since moving out at 18 and the longest amount of time Wade and I have been apart. I was not his only Doula. My mother was a constant by his side and the director of how we needed to care for him. Her decades worth of Hospice experience allowed us to keep him home, in his own bed, until the end. My sisters were also there along with my amazing niece and nephew. None of us hesitating to do everything in our power to prioritize his care, comfort, and his wishes for “No Travel!”
My dad was actively dying for almost five days, that is somewhat longer than usual. This is the final stage of life when a person's bodily functions gradually stop working and they are very close to death. Along with his sales career, he had to excel at this too! He was non-responsive, had significant breathing changes, and long pauses between breathes. Keeping your person at home is a major commitment. It is physical and emotional roller coaster ride. The hours and minutes moved at a snail’s pace, but the days were over before I knew it. I could not believe, going to bed and waking in the morning, that he was still hanging on. I was a frayed nerve on two feet quietly praying for him to give in. Self-care was still a priority, thank you Gracie (my parents’ mini bernedoodle), for taking multiple long walks with me! I was stress eating sweets and, at the same time, not eating enough. I was sleeping, but it was not overly restful. I am human and did have a sleep deprived meltdown at one point. I took the time to do a grief meditation and take a nap. That righted my ship as much as possible and allowed me to continue.
My father, Richard Joseph Ireland, took that final breath in the early hours of October 6th with my mother next to him in bed. The quiet coming from him was deafening and seemed so abrupt. We hunkered down in the living room while we waited for Hospice to make their Time of Death visit and for the funeral home to come. He “left the building” at about 5:30am covered in a beautiful Irish blanket. The funeral home employees wore green ties to honor his last name and heritage. He was sent on his way to begin the final leg of his journey on his own.
I was able to be both Doula and daughter during this time. I love my complex father deeply and I can never thank him enough for the lessons on living he taught me while dying. He faced it with grace and strength right until his last breath. He was ready (I asked him if he was) and we followed his lead. I will carry this experience with me and use what I have learned to try to help others face death. I will utilize the gifts he gave me to be a better Doula. I will carry him with me in my heart (need to make some room) and treasure the memory of the Stewart’s butter pecan ice cream cone I had for breakfast as Wade and I made our way home. 9 life changing days, what an honor.
I see you, I am you.
