27 More Minutes

My Dad was a jokester, he had been his whole life. He was a very funny man and could always make everyone laugh. He would do random triple lutz in the living room and handstands in the backyard with me, even as an older man, I'm talking into his 60's.

I lost my Dad, Cal Wright, a few months ago to cancer at the age of 69. Cancer that was diagnosed at the end of January and he died at the end of February. He declined rapidly and as sorrowful and gut-wrenching as this is to tell, it is one of my favorite stories of my Dad.

I had driven home for a few days to help my Mom take care of my Dad, not knowing how much he had declined from when I had seen him two weeks prior. After I arrived, I noticed how often he would lose his train of thought, how he would answer a question with a story that made no sense, he no longer could just use a cane, he had to use a walker and even struggled with that, so much weight had been lost, and he was in more pain.

Here was my father, who had been such a strong man my whole life, working hard manual labor hours all his life, always able to lift things that I couldn’t, able to walk down the middle of the river to find me on the shore and help me put bait on my hook, and here he was. Physically and mentally breaking down right in front of me. It cracked my soul, not because he was not physically the man he used to be but because I did not want to lose my Dad.

My Dad would have to get up every 45 minutes to 1 hour to go to the bathroom. He sat in a recliner in his bedroom because it was too painful for him to lie down and his bedroom connected to an open vanity area that led to the toilet and shower that was separated by a door. My Mom had told me that the previous night he had tried to go by himself but almost fell so he needed help.

Of course, Dad did not ask for the help, he did not want to burden his wife or daughters but what he didn’t know was that it was an honor. It was an honor to be able to help take care of him as he had never failed to take care of me for my whole life. I took the night shift and did not sleep so when he would try and sneakily get up out of the chair I would be able to catch him and then help.

He would not let his daughter help him to the actual toilet so I would help him up from the chair, hand him his cane and support him on the other side as we took a few steps to his walker, he would then take his walker and I would walk behind him, placing my hands on his back and helping to support him, then he would reach the doorway to the toilet, park the walker (it was too big to fit through the doorway), and then I would support the few steps back to the doorway until he grasped the frame and wall and he was able to shut the door. I would wait outside the door until he was finished and we would go back to his chair.

Well one time I failed and had drifted off to sleep, not waking up until I heard his walker on the tile. I shot up and ran in there and he had made it about halfway to the doorway so I rushed up behind him, I had about a foot of space between us when..

“Look at this spin..” he had said.

Before I could tell him no, my Dad let go of the walker and did a spin like he had just been twirled off the hand of someone he was dancing with and had a smile on his face.

A smile spread across my face until he completed his spin and lost his footing, again I failed and did not catch him in time. He fell to the floor and my heart dropped.

But Dad just laughed and said “stuck the landing.”

The next time my Dad got up to go to the bathroom I had been in the kitchen getting something to drink and when I came back he was standing up out of his chair. I told him to wait but he wanted to be Speedy McGee and he turned to start walking to the vanity area without his walker.

I'm scolding and lecturing him about how he needs to get his walker and he has already fell once but Dad does stop. So I run up behind him and wrap my arms around his chest and say, "Fine then. I'm just going to walk like this with you the whole way."

A pause, then "Fine then. I'm just going to walk like this with you the whole way." My Dad says in a high pitched tone and with attitude, mocking me.

I start laughing and see the smile on his face.

A few days later, February 25th, Dad was no longer responsive and the end was near. He had a nice day of family coming to see him and the night was upon us. His wife, four daughters, and one of his son-in-laws was all that remained.

I have been a Paramedic for many years and so all day I had been able to see the signs from his body that he would die soon and after the house had quieted down, I noticed a change in his breathing. I went and sat next to him and listened to his respirations and knew he only had a matter of minutes. I went and told my Mom and my sisters and we all went to sit around him.

Two daughters sat at the foot of his bed, two at the middle of the bed, and his wife sat at the head of the bed. My Mom laid her head next to his. The only sounds coming from his oxygen machine and sniffles. His breathing became slower and slower and more and more shallow. It was 9:58 PM.

One of my sisters said, “let’s all hold hands.”

Somehow, I can't even remember exactly, we messed that up. One sister was reaching across the bed to hold another's and something happened and hands were not connected and all of us were watching this occur.

And we all lost it.

We busted out laughing and I looked at Dad and said, “I’m sorry Dad, you and Mom did the best y’all could.”

We continued to laugh for a little while longer and then the laughing stopped. I listened for my Dad’s breathing again and it had picked up. He was breathing better and then he was breathing normally. He remained alive for another 27 minutes.

I know that he heard us all laughing together and he held on for another 27 minutes to have one final laugh and goodbye with his girls.

Why is this one of my favorite stories about my Dad? Because it tells a story of his love for his daughters and wife so much.

Despite everything my Dad was going through, he did not lose who he was down to his core. He was still the fun, smart-aleck, story-telling man I had always known and he did not, for one second, falter in his belief as a father to protect his daughters and wife and he did that through making us laugh, being silly, and hanging on for 27 more minutes.

This is a story of strength, love, and an example of a great father.