To My Father—Thank You

I prepared myself for my father's passing.
It might be today, or at the latest, three days from now.

As a nurse, I kept telling myself this.
On my way home from the hospital, I looked back on my father's seven-month battle with illness.

Once I got home, the tension I had been holding onto finally unraveled, and I drifted off to sleep.

It must have been just before 10:00 PM that day.
I received a call from the hospital.

"His blood pressure has dropped a little. He is still conscious, but his breathing seems a bit labored. Would you like to stay the night?"

—Should I have stayed by his side after all?
That thought crossed my mind.

I told them, "I will contact my mother."
Will my mother be okay on her own? I thought as I made the call.

"I think I'll go stay with him."

Saying that, my mother headed to the hospital with my younger brother.

About an hour later, there was another call from the hospital.

"His breathing has stopped now..."

"I see. Understood. I am on my way."

I was surprisingly calm, even to myself.

Did my mother make it in time?
Was my father lonely?

I took my children and headed to the hospital.

When I entered the room, the monitor was flat, and the alarm was still sounding.

My father, who had been moving about so restlessly in the evening, was no longer moving.
However, he did not look distressed; he had a peaceful expression on his face.
He was still warm.

"Father, you worked so hard. Thank you. You're at peace now."
I said this while touching his still-warm body.
Sadness welled up quietly.
Even so, the feeling that my father had been released from his suffering was stronger, and quiet tears overflowed.

My mother was crying too, but I am sure she felt the same way.

When my mother arrived at the hospital, my father was still conscious, nodding and moving his body.
Ten minutes after she kept talking to him, he suddenly let out a sound, his pulse dropped, and he stopped responding.
They called the nurse, and he passed away right then.

My mother made it in time.
She was able to see him off at the very end.

—He must have been waiting for you, the nurse told her.

"That's good. You weren't lonely at the end, were you?"

The attending physician arrived, and at 11:56 PM on April 7th, death was confirmed.
He was 87 years old.

"You worked very hard. I will write the death certificate as death by old age."

I see. It was old age.
His heart failure had stabilized, but his body could not hold out.
Even so, he closed his life quietly as a death from old age.

My mother, my children, and I wiped my father's body.
Because it was this time of night, the family was able to gather and say goodbye while he was still warm.

For my children, this was their first experience with the death of someone close to them.
I believe each of them had their own various thoughts.

Father, thank you.

For me, this battle with illness became a great lesson, both as a nurse and in thinking about how to live from here on.

It was a seven-month period that felt both long and short.
The season when the cherry blossoms fall.
The petals were dancing quietly.

Thank you for watching over us until now. My father has departed.
I am grateful for your likes and warm comments.