I guess I should be getting better at saying goodbye but I'm not. Honestly, I think I'm getting worse. After a relatively quite and uneventful long weekend I was up bright and early this morning and out running errands. I went on line to check my emails and had a message that caused alarm. It read "Pat's in St. Judes, he's not doing well, can you come." I immediately went over to see what had happened. I had spoken to him just last Thursday and he was all fired up over a stocks issue and was sharp as a tack in our conversation.
When I walked in his room he was searching for some water and frustrated with a buzzing machine. You know how hospitals are, there is always something blinking or buzzing. I was alarmed at his appearance, tubes going in and out, monitors attached to his chest, forehead and fingers and he was so thin. Once things got in control again I found out he had been brought in last Friday due to shortness of breath and his heart was pounding out of his chest. At 93 years years old Pat is done fighting the battle. His wife, Dee passed last November and he told me she's waiting for him to get there. Pat is legally blind and very hard of hearing, I'm sure life doesn't hold much interest for him any longer. It doesn't make it any easier for those he's leaving behind.
By the time I left his entire family was there to meet with Hospice for an evaluation. Fortunately for me I had a nice long visit with him and an opportunity to say my good byes. He is one of the few left of a dying breed of men. He was one of the "Greatest Generation."
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