Dad is making his last stand.
He's not expected to make it through the night.
I went to say goodbye today, and it was one of the hardest things I've ever done.
His skin was yellow, clammy, his lips and hair dry. Breathing very labored. If he wasn't sort of breathing I would have guessed he passed already.
I told him it was ok to go, that he was a good daddy, and I loved him, and I'd see him later. That sort of thing. I wanted to run out of the room screaming, and wanted to crawl into bed with him at the same time and hold him. Such a weird feeling. In the end I only stayed about 10 minutes. Got through it because of Dave.
I am ready for him to go. I alternate between feeling relief that his suffering is over, and wanting to wail at the top of my lungs.
I am glad that he's not afraid. That was my biggest fear. When he nearly died from colon cancer, my dad the "athiest" asked for a priest to pray with him and give him last rights. I'm not a priest, but I prayed for him today.
This is a very strange vigil. I just am waiting for the news. I feel so weird right now. Can't even describe.