Two Years

Two years ago today my dad passed away at St. Vincent's Hospital in Portland, Oregon from complications of metastatic melanoma. It was four days before his 77th birthday. Here is a list of some of the things that my dad was grateful for:

His family and friends, fishing, golf, playing the trumpet, eating really fresh, well cooked fishes, America, sunrises and sunsets, order, a clean house, a good joke or a funny scenario, hard work, ice cream, warm weather, watching movies, going for a walk, maps, root beer, Roofrauff, breakfast--especially crisp bacon and well done hash browns, jazz music--in particular Dizzy Gillespie, Maynard Ferguson, Doc Severinsen, Chet Baker and Charlie Parker, road trips with my mom, playing the stock market, Oregon, Mercedes Benz (old and new), taking pictures of nature, real estate, chips, reminiscing, being near water, integrity in business and life, his parents, beauty in whatever form it took (music, nature, visual art, my mom) and so many other things that I can't think to list right now.

My dad was big on counting his blessings and commenting on them aloud. For most of his years, my dad was an enjoyer of life. He was kind and funny and generous and helpful. He set a good example, I think.

One really memorable thing from the day that he died was the nursing care he received. He had two nurses, one during the day, Helga and one at night, Alyssa. The care they provided was so respectful and heart felt. They were careful to do what my mom and I wanted in terms of pain control, respiratory medications and repositioning for comfort. They made sure that in a situation where we had so little control that we had choices and were involved and included.

They were so sensitive to our pain, giving us time alone with him and also being present with us as much as we needed. During one of my mom's few breaks I was sitting alone with my dad, holding his hand and Alyssa came in and sat down and took his other hand. She asked me "what is he like when he is not sick?" It was such a kind question because it allowed room for Dad as a whole person, and took into account that for 99% of his life he had not been this sick, suffering, struggling being. She sat with me for long enough to hear all about his personality and some stories from his life. I think it was therapeutic for me and hopefully rewarding for him to hear his child tell a stranger about what a great man and father he had been, especially told in the present tense. Alyssa and I both cried as we sat there holding my dad's hands.

The care provided on that day made more of an impact on me as a nurse than anything I had learned in school or the previous 3 years that I had been working as an RN. The kindness they brought to our tragedy made me think, "this is what I want to do--I want to help people to die as comfortably as possible and help their families to feel comforted and less scared and alone." While neither Helga nor Alyssa were trained as hospice nurses they provided wonderful hospice care to my dad in his final day of life. Because of the spirit of their care, I was shown a beautiful way to be with patients and families in their final hours. Because of my own experience of loss I have a better idea of what the children of a dying patient might go through during that excruciating time. I remember the nurses' sensitivity and how they never were "too much", so I try to give the same. I try to bring my heart into every experience with my patients and their families to be of service like Helga and Alyssa were to us.

Dad, I miss you every day. I think of you constantly and laugh at things you would think are funny or ridiculous. You are alive and well in my heart. I love you. A.