Losing a parent is a pain that has no name. Grief doesn't describe the pain.
It's a pain one can never prepare for.

in the normal time frame the parent will die before the child. We know this, yet the pain blindsides us when that parent dies.

I was with my father when he died in August of 2007. We knew beforehand that he would most likely die that weekend as he had suffered two strokes, one minor, the other massive at the beginning of the week.

Daddy had been sick off and on the entire year. So finding myself in a hospice room wasn't entirely unexpected.

I was always the protected one in the family; physically weaker than either of my siblings and chronically ill.

If I had wanted to be excused from the entire hospice scene, the setting up with and the dying, I sure my family would have gladly let me run and hide.

There is no hiding from the death of a parent. It will come whether one is ready for it or not. Live long enough and you will eventually lose a parent.

I was at his side when Daddy died, holding his left hand, my brother held his right hand.

We talked to him all night long; told him the things we liked best about growing up with him as our father; thanks him for being our Daddy.

At one point, my bother, his wife and their two daughters gathered around Daddy's bed and prayed for him.

Though tears were streaming doen our cheeks and our knees buckled from time to time, we stood ramrod straight, never letting go of Daddy's hands.
We did snag chairs with our feet to sit in. We didn't let go of Daddy's hand, though.

The room was filled with Daddy's rasping breaths, punctuated by sharp gasps as sleep apnea interfered with his normal breathing.

Finally the room was silent.

My brother looked at me and I nodded, or was it the other way around?

In any case, my brother laid his ear against Daddy's chest while I held my fingers to his nose. We both checked his pulse at carotid vein and wrist.

A nurse quietly walked in, took one look at Daddy and pronounced him dead.

One reason I wanted to be with Daddy that night was that years ago, when I was about fifteen he hd me promise him that when he died that I would make "double sure" that he was dead before we buried him.

Daddy had a deep seated and frightening fear that he would be buried alive.

I looked the nurse square in the eye and said, "He had a terrible fear of being buried alive. Would you please double check that he is indeed dead?"

She nodded

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