Daddy’s last train ride.

I’ve tried to prepare for today for almost fifteen years. Since his second heart surgery, I’ve known that Daddy’s time was limited. I just always thought it would happen quickly because his heart would stop. I never dreamed it would be this way.

My grandmother used to tell me that my father wanted a puppy for his first birthday, which happens to fall on Christmas. Instead of getting a puppy, he got a brother. My father was born on December 25th, 1944. Eleven months, thirteen days later, his brother was born on December 7th, 1945. For just over two weeks of every year after that, they were the same age. That’s as close as you can get to twins; without being twins.

I guess I never really understood how close my father was to his brother; until about a year ago. In May 2017, my uncle went to Houston for a double lung transplant which resulted in a seven month extend stay in the hospital before passing away on December 28th. During his hospital stay, I made multiple trips to check on him and visit with him. Each time I returned, my father would call me to get an update. After several months, he was finally able to call him and talk with him on the phone. Daddy was so happy. During a visit, shortly after that, my uncle’s wife told me how excited he was to talk to Daddy. She said they were lonesome for each other. They were used to talking on the phone two to three times a week. I never knew that.

My grandfather, father, and uncle, each retired from the railroad with 44, 43, and 39 years. It occurs to me now that they spent more time together on the job than they did at home with their families. Of course they were close.

My uncle was buried on New Year’s Eve, 2017. Though he made it to the rosary the day before, by father missed his brother’s funeral because he was hospitalized the night before with pneumonia. That was the first of three rounds of pneumonia, this year, and what would be the beginning of the end. During the last few months, he would roam the house during the night. Sometimes, he was searching for one of the grandchildren, but most times, he was looking for, and calling for, his brother.

After a three week stay in the hospital, he was released to a rehab facility only to be returned to the emergency room a few days later in crisis. The doctors kept his blood pressure up with dopamine while we had an opportunity to visit with him and call his sisters to come see him. During one of the visits, one of his sisters pointed out an old train on the TV. I noticed he was already looking at it, and I heard him whisper, “I wish I could ride just one more time.”

That evening, the doctors stopped the dopamine and fully expected that Daddy’s heart would just stop, but it didn’t. You see, he has lived the last fifteen years with two artificial heart valves, and the bottom half of his heart atrophied to half its size. He had already been to Hell and back. Why would this stop him?

The next day, the doctors admitted him to hospice care, and we began to face the inevitable. But for the next seven days, he detoxed off of 28 medications and began to make unimaginable improvements. His taste returned after years of being gone. He ate three meals a day. Got so excited to eat a root beer float and took a big swig of root beer that burned all the way to his stomach. He had to get to ten days to be reevaluated to go home on hospice. At the rate he was improving, he could walk out of there by himself on day ten. He was already getting out of bed at night, and when I would arrive early in the morning, I would find him in the “time out” chair at the nurses desk. They called him the “night walker.”  The whole time, I was trying to figure out how we could get him to the train yard, so he could ride. I didn’t know, he was already on his last train ride.

On day eight, the phone in his room rang early in the morning. He tried to climb over the top of his bed to answer the phone. and hurt himself. By the time I had arrived, he was mad because he had hurt himself. The nurse had given him something for the pain. An hour later, my sister put him on the phone to talk to my mother, and he couldn’t make sentences that made sense. That was two weeks ago, today. From then to now, his train ride came to an end.

Last Monday morning, I watched helplessly as his defibrillator shocked him three times. Defibrillators go off when the heart stops. Each time, he let out a yell and gritted his teeth. After the first hit, he told me that his cousin had died that day. He actually died while Daddy was in the hospital. After the second hit, he looked at me and asked me who I was. After the third hit, he let out a sigh and said, “I’m done with this place.”

The last week has been extremely tough. I’m thankful that I had the chance to spend the night with my father and hold his hand while he slept. I am thankful that while my son’s disability has caused him to avoid interaction with his grandfather, he found the strength to hold his Pop’s hand, kiss his forehead, and tell him that he loved him.

Ten months and twenty-eight days after his death, my father joined his brother for an eternal train ride.