When the Old Man died, it seemed as if the world suddenly held its breath. A sense of stillness fell across the town, and normal activities took on the appearance of being performed in slow motion. There was no official sign of his passing. No bells tolled, no flags fell to half mast, yet the town became subdued, muffled, and it felt as though the energy had gone from the new day.
As I sat beside his body after another long night spent talking to him, reading to myself, dozing, offering sips of water, and massaging his aching back and failing kidneys, I felt surprisingly calm. I was exhausted. Emotionally and physically spent. The nights had been mine, a decision of choice on my part. Night staff at the hospital were few, and I knew enough to cope with his needs through the hours of darkness. I had sat enough night shifts to know it was mainly company and basic physical needs that patients required at night, and so I was content to leave the more physical, complicated tasks to my brothers and the hospital staff during the daylight hours.
What I had not counted upon, though, was the amount of conversation that he wanted to engage in, and the level of participation I suddenly found myself wanting. We reminisced, I helped him shower in the early morning, or after dinner. I helped my brothers change his dressings,dress and feed him, and then sat with him through the night, talking and reassuring each other.
At this time, I finally felt as though I could at last repay this man who had given me so much. I could do some tiny act of reparation to the man whose sacrifices had allowed me to have so much. My vigil was as much for me as it was to help the greatest role model I had ever known. When my hands were aching so badly from continually massaging his lower back and kidneys as he sat, semi-reclined in the hospital chair, I said "I'm sorry Dad, I can't do it any more". He took my hand in the darkness, laid it on his stomach, patted it and whispered; "It's okay, son, it's okay".
As daylight spread its light across the town, a very unusual thing happened. A freight train, visible from the hospital window, pulled into town. These trains were running about once a day, usually after lunch, and we would point them out to Dad, who, as a long-time railway man, still showed an interest in the trains. Normally these trains would roll past the window, and into the station, before heading West. This particular train, however, pulled into town, but stopped and unaccountably, backed up, right across the level-crossing, until it was level with the hospital window. He was asleep by now, and I didn't disturb him. The train sat for a time, the pulled forward, and out of sight.
Later, Mum came to say good-bye before leaving for a medical appointment, she said "I'm going now, but I'll be back tonight. If you need to go, don't wait for me, it's all right". He made no sign, except to take a big breath, and sigh.
Breakfast arrived soon after, and as I sat, drinking tea, I suddenly had the urge to look up from the local paper and check on him. He was gone....so quietly, calmly...exactly as he had been in all the major events of my life.
So, when I called the nurse,and the family came, and the town became a place of muffled events, I felt calm. Angry, also, yes, but that was due to outside events which I could not control, but my sense around my father was one of calm. I believe that train came back to pick him up, and take the old railway man back West, back to his home in the bush.
Happy Father's Day, Pa.
