travelling

We went to visit my father on Sunday.


This time, he didn't know who I was.


His voice is barely audible when he speaks.


And when he does speak, he speaks of seeing 
his brothers Harry and George, 
and his sister Anne.


They are deceased.


The hospice workers call this "travelling".
It is when the dying "see" those who have passed
on before them.  It is a phenomenon that 
often occurs.  When the dying hover somewhere
between this world, and the next, and greet
those who have traveled on before them.

I find it quite interesting.


My father can no longer stand.  He can
sit only by supporting his frail, fragile
and failing body with pillows.


He is a shadow of himself.  


A ghost really.  A ghost clinging to 
this mortal body.  Barely.


His voice only a whisper of what it once was.


He fell back to sleep, which he does
almost all day and all night now, after 
about a half an hour.


Kyle and I stayed and helped my mother
move, rearrange and take away furniture
from the "living room"--it is now his
"hospital room."


At one point I broke down and wept.
It surprises me the emotional toll
this takes on my very human body.


It exhausts me.  


We made funeral plans.


His funeral plans.


When it was time to go, I walked over
to his bed and leaned over to kiss his
forehead.


"Good bye Dad," I said. "Love you."


His eyes fluttered.  In one brief moment
of clarity he saw me, his daughter, Dorien.


"Oh Dorien!" he exclaimed.  "Good-bye."


I wonder every time, if it will be the last time
I will get to say good-bye.


He is getting ready to travel.


And I guess I am getting ready to let him go.