That's life, Doc

Selfmade. Brilliant. Charming. Funny. A meticulous dresser. Flashy. Well travelled. Sometimes, you can throw all the adjectives you've got at a person, and barely scratch the surface. In his younger days, he could have been a movie star. More adjectives. He graduated second in his class, in an era where coloreds didn't go to medical school. He knew, fro the age of 12, that he was going to be a doctor, and be able to help people, instead of being forced to stand by and watch them get hit by a bus and die. Worked in the steel mills, piecework, to get through school. Bought a Harley with some of that money, rode it back and forth from Kenyon for undergrad and the University of Michigan in Medical School to Elyria, Ohio. He had tried OSU first, they weren't taking coloreds.

Fought through  Stage IV prostate cancer. Lived more than 20 years after he was 'posed to die.  Two heart surgeries, knee replacement, neck fusion. 

One of the first programs for mental health in Ohio. One of the first programs for unwed mothers. One of the first programs for drug abuse.  

More adjectives. 

I got no words.  Right now. No words that could properly represent this man.

I'll try a story about how he died. 

Last week, he was feisty. Giving eryone hell all morning, I was told. Said, to the lady who'd been there 3 times a day since he'd been there: "you need to come around more! I haven't seen you in a year!" 

Had a little pneumonia. Bounced back. Good days, bad days. Knew us. Didn't know us. Babbled some. Other times, De Niro: "I don't have any cash." "I just need to hold onto a little cash!" 

Three days ago, he declined a little. Less energy. Said he wanted to die. Just matter of fact like.

Next day, less responsive. I get a phone call. Meet for lunch. Hold each other up.

Next day, I'm there. Hospice day. Several hours of meetings in his room, with him laying, unresponsive, in his bed. Discussing what you discuss. With him right there.wish I had that do over. 

Several hours. Then, we are standing over him, talking about him. Telling stories. About him. Great stories, actually. Clear approbation. You see, his signs started sliding, so the Hospice nurse drifted over there. We followed, because even there, news of who my father was had travelled. Nurses and staff had beef great the whole time,  it today, they were always there, checking. Serving. Cleaning . Serving. We'll  come back to that. We were telling the Hospice nurse about what he had done, and as usual, SHINY. None of us can keep to the plot. Both of us finishing each other's sentences about what a great person he was. Don't need THAT do over. Then, I told him. "Dad, you've always been there for me. Your entire life has been about serving people, fixing them. You said you didn't want to linger if your mind was gone.  We heard you say you were ready to go home. We all love you dearly. If you want to go home now, that's OK" . Mom said that she loves him forever and that if he's ready, to go on home." Two big breaths. *drops mic*

I just have no words.

Except "thank you". 

Night, pop. Rest well.