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Brian
Mendonça
When
dad passed away I was relieved. The pain he had been through would now be a
thing of the past. The removal of the phlegm was the latest instrument of
torture inflicted upon him. How he struggled, biting and snarling at the cord
which was inserted. With every breath he took, a rasping guttural sound wheezed
out of him. The death rattle had begun.
The
doctor came in and said it could be that very night. And so it was. Around 4.27
a.m. in the ebbing darkness dad passed on. The massive heaving chest was
finally still. All the gadgets in the room stared in stupefaction. Their
innings had hardly begun.
But
dad was at the crease for a long time. He was 55 days short of his 88th
birthday. He was husband, father and grandfather. Along the way he touched
several lives, including that of the family. He travelled widely, working in an
oil refinery to support his family. His mission was accomplished.
It
seemed appropriate that he chose that day to pass on since the reading said it
all, ‘Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.’
(Mt.11:28)
Rest
is what dad dearly needed. Almost a month in hospital had drained, drugged and
demeaned him. He could hardly open his eyes when we spoke to him. Yet in his
lucid moments, despite his pain, he would always ask about our day,. His one
delight was to see my son Dwayne (6) and listen to him jabber.
When
the hospital could do nothing, he kept pleading, ‘Take me home,’ ‘Don’t waste
time,’ ‘I packed my suitcase.’
We
were racing against time to bring him home. Before that a hospital bed, an air
mattress to prevent sores, and oxygen had to be put in place.
Sometimes
when he was fighting his condition, his eyes blazed with a red-eyed defiance. In
these moments he often reminded me of Beethoven and how he raised his fist when
Death came to call him.
Sometimes
he used to raise his hands as though he was saying Mass. He complained of back
pain often and the body grew heavy with water retention.
But
through the many stints in hospital he made a special effort to be a good
patient, joking with the staff, and making light of his condition.
Now
that he is gone I feel a void that can never be filled. His magnanimity in
fighting a losing battle, humbled us. Holding Queenie’s hand and mine in each
of his hands as we stood by his side, he forced out those simple words, ‘Thank
you.’
Rigor
mortis set in soon. It was difficult to bend his limbs. What we had revered and
respected became a cadaver. As the undertakers wrenched it away from us in a
bed sheet, they flung it on the stretcher on the ground, like a sack of potatoes. The lifeless corpse
was bound for the icy coldness of the morgue.
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Published in Gomantak Times Weekender on Sunday 30 July 2017
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