The Synopsis

Four weeks ago today, my dad was checked into St. Mary's Health Center by his doctor.

He didn't want to go. "I'm not sure about this time," he told my mom.

Yesterday, we had a conference with his care providers -- doctors, nurses, social workers, and pastoral care.

"He's not getting any better," they said. Hospice was brought up.

As a family, we were still uncertain about what to do. Until we saw him.

"Take this stuff off of me!" he said angrily. "I want all this stuff -- everything -- gone!"

At first he seemed like he was in a bad mood, but he persisted. "Why won't you do what I ask you to do?" he asked. "I want all this stuff off of me!"

At that point, all doubt was removed. We each explained to him that if we take all that stuff off, he'd die soon. He told us he understood. Then two doctors came in and explained the same thing to him.

"That's okay," he said.

They removed his feeding tube, his dialysis port, his IVs, and all the medications that are keeping him alive. He will be moved to a private room this morning. His siblings and grandchildren came and said goodbye to him last night.

I told him that if he wants to go, that I'm okay with that -- I'll miss him terribly, but he's been through enough.

It's time.