Mom and dad enjoying some quiet time together on their new deck that Mark built for them. The furniture is the Takano kids' "Parents' Day" present.
I love this picture of them together. They weren't talking to each other...they just lovingly looked at each other. Since they've known each other since junior high, I imagine that they can just look at each other and know what the other is thinking.
Madeline and I are home in Newport for the time being. At the time I packed us up, I could not understand why I felt that it was the right thing to do...to leave dad. It made better sense when I called my mom to check on dad. Mom said that after Maddie and I left that dad crawled back into bed and returned to how he had behaved last week when we thought we were going to lose him. That's when it clicked...Maddie and I needed to leave so dad could die. Sounds odd, but even the morning we left, as I kissed my dad goodbye, he said to me, "I made it to another Madeline day." The longer we stayed with my parents the more dad would fight to see his grandbaby. I should have known. Madeline was the whole reason dad fought his cancer in the first place. And, now, here he was again, hanging on, suffering, just so he could have another day with Madeline.
I received a text from my sister this morning which initiated phone calls from me to her and my mom:
"Hi sis. Rough night last night. Dad is begging us to help him end his life. He started crying. It hurts to watch one of the strongest men I know be reduced to that."
Those are difficult words to even type much less reread, but it's reason for this blog post today. Nothing ever prepares you for the dying process. It doesn't necessarily happen quickly. I am sick just knowing that my dad is suffering. Our family has strong convictions about death with dignity or assisted suicide, but once you're in a position like we're in, it makes you stop and consider...as horrible as it sounds, I wish my dad could die already. Why does it have to be so difficult?
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