He laughs

Hours. Days. Weeks. Finally, they all get it - Hospice, the doctors and the nurses. The demon disease likes mid-afternoon. It attacks viciously. It contorts Dad's limbs leaving him groaning and twisting.

More frequent and more powerful meds will subdue the demon. It works and it doesn't.

Once again we (Mumma, Zim - my sweet JRT, and me) arrive and Dad is asleep, breathing deeply. It's a profound relief. The new meds are working. Dad is comfortable.

A knee jerks. The other. Dad's torso flies up to meet his knees in an involuntary and clearly painful crunch. He groans and pants. The spasm subsides, he relaxes into the bed.

His eyes open.

He sees us.

He laughs with delight.

We smile back. "We're here. We love you."

Dad's eyes close and he drifts back onto the bed. So still. So quiet. So at peace.

So still. Is he breathing? His chest doesn't move, his nostrils don't quiver. There is no sound. Is this it? Is it done?

His throat moves and then his chest. He gives a deep sigh.

Dad's not done. My heart moves with joy and my soul weeps a little with disappointment. He's resting. It's okay.

He's knees jerk, the crunch begins and ebbs. Dad's eyes open and he laughs with delight to see us.

My heart moves with joy and my soul weeps.