End of Days

Please release him. I hold Dad's hand and pray.

The demon is winning. Dad's taking in enough pharmaceuticals to put a horse on it's back. Maybe an elephant. And the contractions continue. A few of minutes rest. The panting starts and turns to groans and Dad's nose rises to meet his knees.

Please release him.

I harass the nurses relentlessly.

What else? He needs more.

Nurse P1 drags in the doctor from her rounds. She agrees. Dad needs more to pacify the demon. They can make the demon sleep. It will make Dad sleep. Hard. He won't wake to hunger or thirst. He won't be able swallow or chew. Or want to.

Let him go.

Days to a week.

It's an easy choice. It can be painful or painless. It's coming fast.

Make him sleep. Give him peace.

The drugs work. Dad snores.

My mother comes in. She hold his hand and weeps. He looks so peaceful. The demon is caged.

I call my siblings. Dad snores. His legs twitch and then his head rises. Time for more meds. Dad jerks and his eyes flutter.

Nurse P2 advises 'say it now. He won't be this alert again.'

Go Yankees!

I find the game. If Dad floats to awareness, it will be there. Maybe he'll be there. 50 years ago. Young. Strong. Brilliant. Maybe not. But it comforts me.

Days to a week.

I can't stop it. I can't change it. I can make sure he is not alone and feels no pain.