I'm feeding him vanilla ice cream digging from a little cup on a tiny wooden spoon.
The only sounds are from the machines beeping, noises in the hallway and the smacking of his lips as he can't get it off the spoon and into his mouth fast enough.
I wonder if he's wondering if this is his last meal.
His eyes are half-way open but they're glazed and it's hard to tell if he's looking at something far, far away or nothing at all.
"That was good," he slurs. "Another one?"
"You can have anything you want Dad."
I buzz the Nurses station and in a few minutes I'm feeding him another small container of ice cream.
The lights and the television are off so the room's dark with muted light creeping through a little window.
"Thank you," he says when the ice cream's gone.
Immediately he falls asleep with me still holding the tiny wooded spoon in one hand and the plastic cup in the other.
Tossing them in the trash can, I kiss his forehead and stand at the foot of his bed.
We're waiting on Hospice so we can take one last ride together and when they arrive Dad mostly sleeps through the trip ... though ... he fidgets and moans and I become convinced he's dealing with other things.
At Hospice he mutters a lot and occasionally things that make sense ... "I love you" ... "Robee you should stop that!" ... "Remember my moustache?" and we all say we do ... and several minutes later he says the last words ... "It was beautiful."
I don't think he was talking about his moustache.
I think he was talking about his life.
He had lots go wrong ... a terrible upbringing, shot in Korea while escaping a POW camp, snake bites and heart surgeries and such.
But he also had a lot go right ... marrying my Mom, being able to retire early, lavish his grandchildren, travel and collect spectacular friends.
Several of his friends surround me yesterday at lunch and we embrace and they tell me how much they miss him ... how much they love him ... and they lose their words in a wet sloppy ending ... as they rush out to get away from the pain of losing part of themselves.
The last thing Dad ever said specifically to me was ... "Thank you."
Well I wouldn't be here without you Dad so I thank you just as much and we had some Hell of some good times together and not a damn day goes by you're not part of it all still ... somehow ... I don't understand how.
The last words spoken to his family were ... "It was beautiful."
Yep.
It was.
IT IS!
It's nice to be reminded sometimes.
Because this really is a beautiful life we're living ... in spite of the things that go wrong.
