My father passed away yesterday.  He dealt with congestive heart failure for nearly a decade and a half.  Throughout his life, he’s had diabetes, two heart attacks, a stroke, and skin cancer.  He’s battled them all, bravely.  He rarely ever complained, just kept moving on.  It was never in his nature to give in and quit.

  I loved my dad, though we were never really that close.  We were polar opposites in many ways, but I always admired his humbleness. He never felt the need to be the center of attention, rarely ever raising his voice to speak.  He was usually the last one to speak, speaking only when spoken to most times. It was hard to get an opinion out of him at times.  As frustrating as it was to communicate with him at times, I certainly admired his restraint.  It was so rare to hear him voice an opinion that when he did speak, you listened.

  Last week, my father was in the hospital, the fluid has been building in his lungs for nearly a year.  He’s been in and out of hospitals getting the fluids out of his system, only to see it return.  His heart didn’t beat as strong as ours and could not move blood through his system like it needed to be.  His kidneys would stop working because of the lack of blood flow.  It was an endless cycle.  Last week, my father said that he wanted to go home.  He spoke, we listened.

  Through Hospice care, we got him home in a bed, with his own nurses to visit every day. Our goal was to just ease him through his last days, medicate him so he felt no pain.  Two days ago, he went into a light coma.  He couldn’t respond, but he could hear us.  Yesterday, he passed, as peacefully as can be.  I hate to say this, but it’s relieving to know that even though he’s gone, there’s no more suffering.  Rest in peace, dad.