Talking To Dementia Part 5

"Hello, Papa."

Dad had the saddest look on his face.

I took his hand and held it gently. He didn't say a word, he just stared at me with a very discouraged look.

Suddenly he said with a weak voice, "I am close to dying."

I asked "Really? How do you know?"

He replied "It is time. I'm dying. There is nothing you or anyone can do."

Tears rolled down his face as he spoke ever so softly. 

This was a different Dad. Not the Dad I knew. The Dad I knew was tough and strong, and in his illness often aggressive.  This Dad was weak, fragile, and spoke far too softly.

He let me hold his hand a little bit longer than usual. 

The first words he spoke when we got there that day kept being repeated.

After a while he started to become a little anxious. He asked, "Why are you not going? They're waiting for you."

"Who's waiting, Papa?" I asked.

"The nurses and doctors. There's a lot of work to be done. They're going to operate."

"Who are they going to operate on?"

"Me. They have to operate NOW. You need to go. They're waiting."

I hadn't heard Dad speak so many sentences in actual connection to each other in a long time. 

After he wiped a few more tears and urged us to go a few more times, we did say bye to him and left. Our time was up according to the clock (man, how I hated that clock), and it was obvious, which ever way he expressed it, he'd rather be alone that day.

I walked away feeling sad.