My Final Time with My Father

After receiving the explanation of his condition from the attending physician, we chose to provide end-of-life care.
I wanted to spend the little time I had left with my father without any regrets—that was what I thought as I returned to his hospital room.

"We won't be giving you any more IVs now. Your hands won't be restrained anymore either."

When I said that, my mother spoke while shedding tears by his side.
"Thank you, Father. Thank you for everything until now. I'm grateful. Thank you for living such a long life."

I also spoke to my father.

Thank you for everything.
You worked so hard on your rehabilitation.
I'm sorry for being a disappointment to you at the end.
I'll live my life properly from now on, so please don't worry.

The fact that I got divorced a year ago.
Somewhere deep down, I felt sorry about that toward my father.

The moment I put it into words, tears overflowed.
I don't know if my father could hear me.
Even so, I felt I had to tell him now.

As I spoke to my father, memories of the past came flooding back one after another.

"Filial piety is not possible when the parents are gone."
Even though that saying had always been in the back of my mind,
I had thought somewhere that "it would still be okay."

Two months before he collapsed, the three of us—my parents and I—went to eat eel.
The grilled liver was sold out, and my father looked disappointed.
We said, "Let's come back again," but that never happened.

We had talked about going to a hot spring for my parents' birthdays in October.
We had planned to go see the cherry blossoms once he was admitted to a special nursing home.

None of those things came to pass.

—I'm sorry.

Now, I only hoped that his suffering would not last long.

My father seemed restless, taking off his mask and shifting his body.
I hold his hand. I rub his arm. I speak to him.

That is all a family can do.
I never imagined that watching the moment approach would be this painful.

My father's younger sisters also came.
They had already visited once, and they came all the way back again.

They showed him black-and-white photos of his parents and talked to him about the old days.
The time for siblings was there.
I'm sure my father was happy, too.

"We'll come back tomorrow."

They said that before leaving.

The nurse told us, "You can stay overnight if you like."
My mother was hesitant, but she seemed mentally exhausted.

"Let's go home today and come back tomorrow," I told her.

I left the hospital room feeling reluctant to go.

—I never thought this would be my final farewell to my father.

I emailed my younger brother about the situation.

The reply from my older brother, with whom there has been a long-standing feud, was just one word: "Understood."
And I also contacted my ex-husband.

He had asked me to let him know if things became critical.
When my father was hovering between life and death due to a cardiogenic cerebral embolism at the end of August, he had come to visit him because he wanted to see him.

My ex-husband had taken over his own father's company along with its debts and had suffered for 25 years.

My father was one of the few people who understood him and offered him advice and counsel.
I had intended to meet him to report our divorce, which was triggered by the company's bankruptcy, and to apologize.

But before that could happen, my father collapsed and lost many of his memories, including those of his family and himself.
I should have gone sooner.

My ex-husband said that many times, filled with regret.
That is why he asked me to contact him if anything happened.

When I contacted him, he came to see my father immediately.
Hearing that, I felt as if one chapter had come to a close.

—Is there anything else left undone?

I asked myself that as I made my way home.

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