The Darkest Day

Monday morning, the start of our second week at the lake, began like any ordinary day at the lake. Had we had any sense of foreboding the night before or that morning, perhaps we would have called Dad and said, “I love you.” But there was no sign of what was to come. So we did what Dad would have done. We went out fishing.

Tom, Beth and I went to the Potato Islands and Allen’s Bay, and pulled in 6 perch in 3 hours. It was slow. Then the wind picked up and the clouds started rolling in. When it began sprinkling with no sign of letting up, we decided to reel in and head for the safety and shelter of the harbor.

As I walked into the cabin, I noticed I had a message on the “Sister Chat;” the Facebook message group between my 3 sisters, my sister-in-law and me. The message said that Dad had fallen and was going to the hospital by ambulance. He reported his head hurt, and then his back hurt, but that’s all we knew initially.

Dad had been falling frequently, and despite our urgings to use a walker, he insisted on enjoying his freedom and stubbornly refused. We all knew eventually a fall would land him in the hospital. Possibly with a broken hip. When that happened we would be faced with the dilemma of what to do with Mom, as Dad was her primary caregiver.

The rain continued, and since we had promised the girls a shopping day in Walker, we showered and got ready to go, getting continual updates on Dad via the Sister Chat. Before we left for Walker, we got the very disconcerting news that Dad had become unresponsive by the time the EMTs arrived. His eyes were open but glazed over. Even though he had been talking and joking in the hour or two after the fall, at some point he drifted away.

This news, coupled with the fact he had earlier said his head hurt made us suspect the worst. A concussion or head injury, or possibly a stroke that might have caused the fall in the first place–these were all strong possibilities. Before we left, Beth and I stopped over at Paul and Melissa’s and then Deb’s to ask for prayers. My cousins all work in medical fields, and were immediately tuned in to the gravity of the situation. I sent a text to Jared, Seth & Maddie as well, letting them know Grandpa needed their thoughts and prayers.

Once we got to Walker, Beth and I stuck together, while the young girls set off on their own. We were in Heritage Arts and Gifts when my phone rang. It was Phyllis. I told her to hang on until we could get out of the shop and onto the street. We sat down at a little wrought iron table and chairs and Phyllis broke the news to us.

“He’s not going to make it.”

Dad had suffered a brain bleed that was pushing his brain to the side. We knew Dad’s wishes were for no heroics at the end of his life, and even with heroics his prognosis would have been very grim. He had already been put on a ventilator to keep him alive until the family could arrive. The plan was to take him off life support later that evening. Or, if Beth and I really wanted to be there and cut our vacation short, they could sustain him for another day until we arrived.

Beth and I walked up a block to get to a quieter street. We found a picnic table, sat down, and each called our husbands. As I talked to Tom through my sobs, I needed to focus on something. My eyes were fixed on a pinkish-purple house with white trim across the street. I knew this moment, and that house, would forever remain emblazoned in my memory.

As we talked to our husbands, it became clear that we should stay in Minnesota. Dad wouldn’t want us to lose a week at the lake on his account. And we didn’t want to draw out the inevitable, causing Dad to remain on life support any longer than necessary. We had already talked to Phyllis about being present at his bedside virtually and it was decided that would be best.

Through tears we said good-bye to our husbands and hugged each other as the reality continued to sink in. We began walking, but stopped to take pictures of some really pretty flowers. Dad would have loved them. In that moment, and for the rest of the week, I was so thankful that we had made the decision to invite Beth and her girls to join us for the second week. Having my sister with me meant the world to me, as we together faced the unthinkable.

We needed to tell our kids. We found the girls at Christmas Point. First Nicole, Elise and Chloe. A few minutes later, Leah. Chloe took one look at my eyes, I shook my head, and she embraced me. I told her, and then Leah, that Grandpa wasn’t going to make it. Beth and I and our four young adult daughters stood there in Christmas Point for several minutes, tears silently streaming down our faces.

We eventually made our way back to the car. Beth called her boys along with Bill, and I merged our family (Tom, Jared, and Seth & Maddie) into one call with the girls standing by. As my Dad lay silent, a machine pumping air into his lungs and keeping his heart beating, his family began the process of mourning the huge loss we were about to endure.

Back at Birch Villa, we connected to a video call at the Lodge. We saw Dad lying in the hospital bed, tubes everywhere, unresponsive. We talked to him and told him he was a great dad and that he shouldn’t worry about us or Mom…we would take good care of her. We have no idea if he could hear us, but it was such a blessing to be able to say those words to him before his spirit left this earth. Tom and the four girls came by for a brief time and said their tearful good-byes. Bill also joined by video, as did a couple of the other grandkids. At the hospital, Phyllis, Barb, Diane and Jon joined Dad in the ICU, two at a time, while the other two joined the video call from the waiting room. Kathryne had gone to sit with Mom at home. We didn’t think Mom would have the stamina to withstand being at the hospital, and her memory wouldn’t record the events anyway.

We sang a couple of songs around Dad’s bedside and through cyberspace. I remember “Precious Lord, Take My Hand” and “Amazing Grace.” We read some favorite scripture passages, including Romans 8: 37-39 and Psalm 23. I don’t know if they comforted Dad before his journey home, but the promises we read and sang helped soothe our broken hearts.

They turned off the life support around 10:30 p.m. Soon after his breathing, his pulse, and finally his pacemaker rhythm ceased. We looked at the clock. It was 11:11, and several of us said, “Dad’s in heaven.”

I found myself in a state of shock and disbelief. I knew Dad was gone. I was relieved he went quickly with no long period of suffering or sickness. But I was feeling lost. It didn’t end the way I had always imagined. I wanted to say a proper “good-bye.” And I wished I could have been there.