Dad's Passing - June 1 - 7

Final Days - Losing Dad

Glenn O. Wright

Dec 19, 1935 - June 7, 2015 - 5:07pm EDT

As May turned into June, dad's prognosis quickly deteriorated, so much so that we let brother Glenn know that he should come home if he wanted to spend some time with dad before he passed. He wasted little time making those arrangements after his company's HR department let him know that he was free to use FMLA to cover an extended absence.

I picked Glenn up at the airport around 530pm on Tuesday, June 2nd. We drove straight to the hospital and much to our surprise, Dad was as lucid as he'd been since taking a turn for the worse a week or so prior. He was awake and aware of everyone's presence in his room, though still struggling to communicate due to being intubated. The following day, Wednesday, June 3, dad was perhaps his best day. This was also the day that dad was able to complete his will in the presence of Ben, an attorney.

We met with the doctors again in an attempt to get everyone on the same page relative to dad's prognosis. The family felt like we were getting mixed messages from countless doctors. And a couple of the doctors clearly had no idea what they were talking about. We met with the thoracic surgeon, the ICU director, the palliative care doctor, and the ICU nurse. It was becoming increasingly clear that the likelihood of dad getting better and going home was next to nill. Instead, the question soon became when to consider extubating. By then he was existing via four tubes: one for breathing, another for feeding, another for peeing, and lastly, one for excrement.

None of us were willing to give up as long as dad wanted to fight, and he didn't have a DNR order. We made painstaking efforts to try and ascertain his wishes during the few lucid opportunities over the course of the next few days. Ugh! it was hard. Despite our despair and heartache, there were many loving, funny, memorable moments.

As much hope as Tuesday and Wednesday offered, dad's condition faded quickly. Friday and Saturday, June 5th & 6th were by far his worst days yet. Saturday, the Wright boys met privately and decided that Monday, June 8 would be the day we extubated. Despite no signs pointing to a successful extubation (he couldn't go even 5 minutes during several practice rounds), hope remained that he would surprise everyone and start breathing on his own.

All of the Wright boys, Char, cousin Brian, mom, Ashley and Steven were at the hospital on Sunday, June 7. Dad was out of it for much of the morning, opening his eyes for just a few brief moments. I can't recall if it was Saturday or early Sunday that dad gave the cut sign. I won't kid you, there were a few tense moments in the hallways as we discussed the right thing to do. Ultimately we agreed to extubate that afternoon after discussing his prognosis with the ICU doctor. He gave him nearly zero chance of getting any better even while intubated. He also reiterated his belief that dad would last seconds, maybe minutes breathing on his own.

I think it was 310pm when we extubated. It was difficult. You could feel everyone in the room pulling for dad to breathe on his own. The ICU nurse gave dad meds to help him relax and also some to dull any pain. His breathing started off shallow and laborious but seemed to get better as the initial minutes became an hour. Mentally and physically exhausted, I leaned back in my chair and took a nap. I woke after 20-30 minutes to learn that dad had defied the odds so much so that they were making arrangements for him to be moved to the Palliative care wing, at least that's what they were telling us. But just when a few family members stepped out to notify others that he was breathing better and being moved, brother Glenn, who had been at his bedside holding his hand since extubation, shared that his breathing was becoming not only shallow, but also further and further between breaths. Those words will likely stick with me for the rest of my days. Immediately I snapped out of my stuper and rushed to dad's bedside. There we collectively held dad's hand while witnessing him take his last breaths. At 507pm he took his last breath.

*********************************           A.D.        *********************************

After taking care of the necessary paper work, we hugged several of the ICU nurses that took care of dad during his 16 day stay. It must've been near 6pm when we left the hospital for home. The only way I can only describe the feeling as numb and lifeless. There were bouts of tears interweaved with bouts of staring blankly off into space.

The kids were with Jimaken for the weekend. Mindy told them of grandpa's passing as soon as they got home. It's safe to say that profound sadness befell everyone. Some or another Mindy managed to muster the energy to whip up a simple dinner of pasta and red sauce. Dinner was mostly quiet.

After dinner Mindy and I slipped out onto the deck where we talked little and pondered the near term future without dad. Looking back, I believe I was in shock. I could barely muster the energy to talk, walk, or even cry. Around 8pm I suggested we go on a long walk. I needed something to center us ... me. Mindy agreed to join me. She even invited Jacob to come along but he declined, at least initially.

We walked to and through the park where we were eventually met by Jacob on his long board. We played there for a few before continuing on our walk with Jacob following loosely on his board. He eventually went off on his own, presumably back towards home while we continued walking and talking. It was the best medicine ever. The pain and hurt were ever present but the long walk did both of us a lot of good.