Followed our routine of getting Dad into bed about 9:30 last evening. We’ve followed the same steps for a few years now, first getting the lift sling on him, rolling his wheelchair to the lift, positioning his feet and hands, hooking the sling straps to the lift and raising him up enough to take down his pants and change his Depends. I roll the lift legs under his bed and position him to slowly drop down to the mattress, with an absorbent pad on top. Mom helps through all this, of course.
The three of us then sit on the edge of the bed, Dad in the middle, with me helping him keep his balance. After Mom says her good night (just for the first time), Dad and I sit a while longer. Often Dad will rest his head on my shoulder for a few minutes. Sometimes I ask him whether he had a good day–and he will say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ but I never know why. If he says ‘no’ I say “I’m sorry you didn’t have a good day, I was really hoping you would have a good one today. Maybe you’ll have a good night tonight and then tomorrow will be a good day for you. I sure hope so.” If he says ‘yes’ I say “I’m so glad to know you had a good day today. I was so happy to see you today, and I just hoped you’d have a really good one. I bet you’ll have a good night too and another good day tomorrow. I sure hope you will.” Sometimes Dad says, “I think you will” or I think we will,” or he says something I can’t understand.
Last night, as he lay his head on my shoulder and I put my arm around him, he was talking a bit. I couldn’t understand most of what he said, just a word here and there. Then, after a pause, clear as a bell, “Please love me.”
“I do love you, Dad, as sure as the sky as blue and the sun shines, I do love you.”
“I love you.”
“I know you do, Dad, and I am so happy that you do. I just think you are the best, Dad, bless your heart. I love you so much, with all my heart.”
I gave him a hug, and we sat in silence.
Such moments are the most important in my life now, as they are in his, I suspect. I will miss them when he is gone.