No More Goodbyes

My father has had a rough few weeks.
I haven’t mentioned it because truth be told there hasn’t been much to mention; until last Tuesday morning.
He experienced a seizure that lasted approximately a minute and a half.
The details of the event aren’t as important as is the possible impending neurological damage done.
His body has been a virtual wasteland of short circuits and genetically faulty wiring and I truly believe he’s had quite enough.
I want to believe the brain gets to a turning point when it tells the body, “It’s all over, pal, I can’t help you anymore.”

As with my mother, I’ve grieved for my father forever; all the time gone by and the man I knew vanishing more mysteriously than a David Copperfield illusion.
If this goddamned disease has taught me anything it’s that the ultimate reality
is the final release from the grips of this thing makes all things bearable once again. . . somehow . . . someway.

It’s the bottom of the 9th of a grueling doubleheader.
There are two outs and the count is 3-2.
I can see my father standing on a shamrock green outfield impatiently tapping his foot.

He’s thinking, “No more damn foul balls. Just get this damn thing over.”
And I’m in the stands holding a cold Fenway Hot Dog just waiting to finally take him home.
I will keep you all posted on his condition.
He’s currently listed on the DL . . .



18 thoughts on “No More Goodbyes

  1. It’s reading/hearing stories like this when I hope that organized religion is right–that there is a good place to go after a long and painful suffering. Like a warm and inviting house after a long and chilly hike.


  2. if it is to be, i pray it’s quiet, painless and peaceful…for all of your sakes…
    i know when it’s my dad’s time, my one comforting thought will be of him and mum together again, painless, worry free and as they always were together…contented and happy…
    we’ll be thinking of you…


  3. I am going through the same thing with my father right now. We may be down to days.

    It is not something I can talk or write about. But, I do share your pain.

    I am so sorry you are also going through this also. Your post was beautifully written.


  4. Michael, thank you for not shying away from the heavier, more sensitive topics when they present themselves to you. As much as I enjoy all of your posts that make me laugh and help to bring some sunshine to the rainy Washington weather, the ones which have touched me the most are the ones where you’ve talked about your parents. It’s so easy to feel completely alone when it comes to dealing with dementia and the ongoing grief it brings with it, so being able to get a small glimpse into someone else’s journey is priceless.

    This is a beautiful post.



  5. I’m so sorry that you and your family are going through this difficult time. Just know that you are not alone! I will send up some good thoughts for you all…


  6. Thank you for your words Michael, talking about death and the feelings that come up is certainly no taboo with you. It is a good thing to have the feelings rather than shy away from feeling them altogether.
    Your father is on his way home, I pray too that it is quiet, painless and peaceful. Blessings Miriam


  7. As usual, that’s beautiful and touching. God-speed to your dad. He needs to go home now…I know you’ve said many good-bye’s. My prayers are with you at this sad time.


  8. I thank all of you for commenting.
    You do ease the pain of this damn thing more than you realize with your soft words.
    My father had a good night last night and a decent day today.
    We’ll see how it goes . . .
    Whether this is the beginning of the end I can’t say but I do know in my heart that he’s sick and tired of it. I just know it.
    Thanks for the prayers and check back for updates.
    Sorry for the bummer post.
    I promise brighter things not too far down the road.
    Thanks again,


  9. Hey Mikey,
    Maybe this is the final game in the series. I understand how it must feel to you, waiting in the stands for the ball to drop. Your pop waving at you and maybe even winking. If he leaves the outfield for the last time – at least you’ll know he played a helluva game. Praying for you all.

    He’s a definite MVP, in my heart
    Thanks, kiddo. I know you’re busy and your comment means alot to me.


  10. May your journey during the coming time be made a little easier in the knowledge that there are countless people around the world thinking of you all right now. We can’t always understand, but we can be here.
    I know I am, and you know my inbox is ALWAYS open for you..any time of the day or night even.
    Take it easy buddy,
    Much love, Kelly

    I appreciate that Kelly.
    I knew it anyway but I still appreciate the fact that you said so.


  11. you will be in my prayers, michael m.
    someday you will meet again and will never have to say “goodbye” ….ever.
    love and peace,

    Thanks, Yvonne.
    Yes, time will take care of things.
    It’s finding the patience to wait that’s tough.


  12. I’m sorry your dad isn’t well. I’ll be keeping him in my prayers. When it comes to that time I hope that it’s peaceful for him and for you. I know it’s been difficult watching him through his illness. You’ve been an amazing, wonderful, loving, caring and attentive son. You have done him proud.

    Both my sister and I like to think so.
    Thanks for the prayers, Lass.
    We can never seem to get enough of those.


  13. I’m sorry to hear about your Dad. I picture him on the shamrock green outfield, tapping his foot, impatiently. Your words are wonderful, Michael! Perhaps your mom is the batter and ready to hit a home run and bring him ‘home’, soon! My thoughts and prayers are with you, Pam and your family.

    Beautiful sentiment, Lynn.
    I love the thought of my mother at bat.
    Somewhere in the clouds, obviously.
    Have a great day with J and the kids.


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