To-Do: Visit Home (Part III)

After the hospice nurse left and we cleared out the room as much as we could, we sat there.  Quietly.  We waited.  We watched.  If watching someone breathe was an Olympic sport, I have no doubt that Dad and I would be the gold medal team.

Grandpa continued to be peaceful.  He was comfortable and we did everything we could to keep him pain free.  I think if he could tell us now, he would let us know that we did a badass job.

Sometime in the four o'clock hour, we allowed his sisters and brother-in-law back into the apartment.  It was time for us to pray the rosary.

We prayed the rosary.  All of us.

I sat at the right side of his bed, closest to his head.  My great aunt behind me and everyone else seemed to be a blur behind, in front of and around me.

The rosary ended and we sat in complete silence.  The only noise in the room was the sound of grandpa breathing.  His respirations were becoming fewer and father between.

I held his arm and watched his choroid artery pump with everything it had.  Eventually he took only one breath a minute.

It was getting closer.

The room was full.  There must have been thirty of us packed in there.

Silent.

Grandpa took one deep breath.

My great aunt whispered "I think he's gone".

I turned over my left shoulder and said "no.  not yet.  He still has a pulse".

At this point, everyone in the room, all thirtysomething of us were standing on our feet.  Breathing in unison.

He took his last breath at 5:05PM on July 16th 2011.

For a minute, it was like we were all mice in this room and suddenly someone turned on the lights and we scattered.  I went to the master bedroom and fell to my knees.  I was sad that I had lost my first grandparent, but I was so relieved that he wasn't suffering anymore.

Since we knew it was coming, the weeping and hysterics was kept to a minimum.  I think it was mostly because we knew he was okay.  He wasn't laying there being eaten alive by fucking cancer.

Everyone reconvenes at his bedside.  I plop myself on the bed, by his feet.  We all talk and laugh.  It sounds strange, but everything that happened was so normal and I can't explain it.

My grandma, who had not left his bedside all day long, finally got up to use the bathroom.  When she came back into the room, she said "I was looking at my Catholic calendar in the bathroom and today is The Day of The Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel".  This might mean nothing to you, but what I hadn't told you is that my grandpa was wearing a scapular that was given to him by a family friend when he first went into the hospital.  The scapular had Our Lady of Mount Carmel on it.

A few seconds later, my baby cousin said "wait.  He said he was going to die at the table.  Today is the feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel".

He knew all along when he would leave us.  He tried to tell us, but we all thought it was just incoherent babble.

Well played, Grandpa.  Well played indeed!

My mom, sister and McKenna flew out to meet up with us for the funeral.

I didn't get home until the 27th of July.

I was gone for nearly an entire month.