It was a Monday. The call came at 10:20. Kay and I were watching TV, and a rather cold-blooded staffer told me Ken had no blood pressure. He was the only person I had met at Calvary Hospital in the Bronx that I was unhappy with.
We got there at 11:15.
His eyes were wide open, and his mouth somewhat so, with a dark spot on his lower lip. We spoke with him, assured him we were there, then he let go. He clearly had been waiting for us. He exhaled some, and did one more time five minutes later.
I closed his eyes five or ten minutes after that. On cue, a chaplain came by for last rites shortly afterwards.
The phone rang 5 minutes after we returned home. It was the eye bank.
Doctors had said six months is average from the time of operation for this type of tumor.
Ken hung on more than 7 months since his August operation.
Five years ago today dad passed away, also in the evening, on a Thursday. He was 82.
Four years ago, Ken watched the clock and marked he exact time dad had passed away the year before.
Three years ago, his disease was just beginning to surface, though the doctors said it had begun over a decade before.
Even after breathing and the heart stops, the dying are still alive for some time, so keep talking. Then again, maybe they're still listening now...
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Viele Grüsse aus Deutschland
Gruss Meike
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