Breath...

I was going to write about my dad singing an entire verse of "Sakura..." as we passed by Pioneer Park in Sequim on our way home from QFC (a 'bananya' run).

I was going to write about the little banter Mom and Dad had when Mom announced last week that she wanted to recarpet the house, and Dad answered with a flat, "No!" and Mom kept pushing him to say yes, and then he very assertively barked, "NO!" again and added, "You can get new carpet after I'm dead!" and then chuckled deviously as he added again, "Except then, you won't be able to afford it, hah, hah, hah!"

I was going to write about the shouting match Dad and I got into last week because he refused to believe that the only thing wrong with Mom's halogen lamp was that it needed a new bulb. (You shoulda seen the wrenches and screwdrivers he had spread out all over the dining room table!)

I was going to write about Dad's latest "pet" plea--a nine-year-old chocolate lab female advertised in the PDN. "All she needs is some to love her!" he pleaded.

I was going to write about all of those. Until this morning.

Dad wanted to go to CostCo to get salmon. I groaned because I despise going to CostCo on Sunday. The crowds, the traffic, the noise. ugh. But....I figured, why not. So I said "Okay. We'll go in an hour."

An hour passed. I grabbed my bag and went into the living room to get Dad. He was lying back in his recliner, looking straight up at the ceiling. His color wasn't so good. His face was, well, I dunno, it was just different somehow.

I tapped his foot, like I usually do when I want his attention. He raised his head a little, "Is it time to go?" His voice was tired. His face was tired.

"Are you okay?"

And he didn't answer.

"Dad?"

And then he said, in a voice more tired than I had heard it since 2004 when he called me in Portland to tell me how drained he was from trying to take care of Mom after her first back surgery, "Hmmm.......yeahhhhh.......yeahh.....okay. Let's go."

I just stood there and looked at him. Assessed him.

He knew I was assessing him. He pointed to his chest, "I'm having some shortness of breath. "

And on the inside, my brain screamed, "SHORTNESS OF BREATH!!??? CALL 911! GET HIM TO THE ER STAT!"

But on the outside, I calmly asked him, "Really? How long?"

"Ohhhh, just this morning. I'll be okay. Maybe.....just another 15 minutes. Let me just sit here for another 15 minutes."

I did. And 15 minutes later I came back to assess him again. He was already on his feet, heading for the door. "Better now."

I said out loud, "I'm going to call the doc."

But he stopped me abruptly and decisively, "NO. I'm all right. Do NOT call the doctor." Then a pause. "If it happens again, you can call. I'll tell you."

So......all those initial topics I was going to write about? They sort of fell by the wayside because all I've been able to think about for the rest of today is 'breath.' Breath. Breath. Breath. That rhythmic barometer that indicates all possible levels of excitement, euphoria, anxiety, panic, shock, surprise, anticipation, exertion, exhilaration. First breath. Sustained breath. Shortness of breath.

Last breath.

Tonight I did a couple of things I have never done before. I reviewed my CPR technique. I went over the "What To Do When A Loved One Dies" list I have posted on the wall next to my desk in the office.

Dad said goodnight about half an hour ago. He came into the office where I was doing some odds and ends on the computer, and shared some news he read about in the paper today. Apparently there's a new vaccine for men who already have prostate cancer (which my dad has had for years but has been well under control for quite some time now). Dad was excited. He said, "It should be approved in a month or two so I want to ask the doc if I can get it."

"Good idea," I answered.

Then he smiled, said goodnight and went in to brush his teeth.

So I've been sitting here thinking about the day today.

About five minutes ago, I don't know why, but some little voice in my head said I should take a photo of Dad. Now. Right now. Like...... Right Now! Go! Do it!

So I did. It's the one that's posted. I told him to smile and look happy because the first three looked so gruff and stern. He asked why I wanted to take his picture. Why I wanted him to smile. I told him it just seemed like a good idea.