Saying Good-Bye
Daddy lived in a nursing home about two and a half hours from the large city where my older brother, my sister, and I live. Our younger brother, who lived with Daddy, served as his primary caregiver. We each took a weekend to sit with Daddy and give our brother a break.
Daddy’s emphysema made conversation difficult, so we shared quiet time watching Gunsmoke reruns on his small television. The plan worked well for years, until shortly after my October visit. My brother’s three children were involved in a fatal car accident. My brother and his wife were dealing with the loss of their three-year-old son and making daily visits to their other son, who remained in a coma. His daughter, who had two broken ankles, stayed with me when she was released from the hospital.
The family needed my help, but caring for my niece meant that I couldn’t make my trips to see Daddy or explain why I wasn’t coming. My brother wanted to tell Daddy in person, which made sense. Daddy doted on his newest grandson and hearing the news over the phone would be too hard. The only problem was that my brother wasn’t able to leave for a visit to the nursing home. I was worried because Daddy wouldn’t know why we weren’t going to see him.
