The Things We Do for Love

I can't claim to know all of my dad's dying wishes, but I am pretty sure I fulfilled one of them today. Mind you, this was today. For one day only. I swear.

I think he appreciated the effort, don't you? At least I got him to smile! And no, I did not buy a Green and Gold wardrobe. I had some help from a neighbor in the hat and jersey department, but I didn't trust myself treating the jersey appropriately, so I bought a $5 t-shirt on clearance and auctioned it off for charity later. (Or just gave it to a sister.)

For the record, I kept my Viking socks on all day. There will be no repeat of this. I'm pretty sure I will need antibiotics for this rash!

I was not the only visitor today by any means. My aunt and uncle from Minnesota were there. Here is Dad with his brother Ray.

All of us siblings within driving distance made it today, too. Here my twin and I show some love. We seem happy, but I tell you, that was not really an accurate assessment of the atmosphere. It was such a hard day that, just ask my hubby, I was procrastinating leaving the house this morning because I wasn't ready to face what was to come.

I decided to drive myself because my guys had quality time with Dad last weekend and I wasn't even sure where I was going to lay my head tonight. (But it would be easier to find free family accommodations for one.)

So my strategy was to concentrate on driving, bellow out '80s tunes on the radio and not think about the conversation awaiting me at the other end of the four-hour highway.

I had requested or "reserved" my 30-minute slot of time with Dad, and my siblings graciously obliged. I pulled up a chair next to his wheelchair -- he didn't have the strength to use his walker today -- and we held hands and I stared at his oxygen tube in his nose and looked at his nearly translucent skin and tried to find courage for words.

They didn't come easy. "I'm sad, Dad." He said he couldn't blame me. "But I'm on my last legs and my legs aren't doing anything any more."

He was so tired and had such a hard time staying awake that we really didn't have a conversation, so to speak, just some close, private time with some talking and some tears -- from both of us. While he napped, he squeezed my hands tight and the tears rolled unchecked down my cheeks and onto that darn Packer shirt. At one point, when Dad opened his eyes, he saw me crying and woke up enough to reach across the table and grab a box of Kleenex for me.

But he did not let go of my hand.

Just as I am not ready to let go of him. Period.

But it's not about me and what I am ready for. All I can do right now is count my blessings and thank God that -- unlike a lot of people -- I had this chance to express my love, my gratitude and say goodbye. How lucky we are!

When I kissed him goodnight before leaving the nursing home and heading over to my twin's to sleep, he asked me, "Will I see you tomorrow?" I answered, "I'll be here if you will."

One can only hope.