Transcript for the Piece Audio version of From The Heart

From The Heart (long version)

My father taught me how to live? by dying. It was a lesson he?d been trying to teach me all my life. But I hadn?t listened or paid attention or figured it out. So, on the last day of his life he showed me how to live in a way I couldn?t ignore.

My dad was a worrier. Or, at least, that?s how I saw him. It didn?t matter if it was a big thing or a little thing. It was his habit to worry. Sometimes? I think it was the worrying? that damaged his heart.

(Break)

He had been sick with heart disease for a long time. He was admitted to the hospital after several months of relatively stable health. He was having too many irregular heart beats... ventricular arrhythmias. That was part of his condition. The lower chambers of his heart would start to flutter and his blood would stop flowing.

The year before he had a small defibrillator implanted in his chest. Its job was to shock his heart out of these arrhythmias.

Even though it kept him alive, he hated it. Usually he could feel his heart beat change and would begin to panic, not because he could die from the arrhythmia, but because his defibrillator was about to fire.

When it fired a pulse of electricity was released on his heart. It was just like you see on TV ? the device would fire and his body would convulse. And, unlike on TV, my father was almost always awake when this happened.

It wasn?t the possibility of dying that worried my father. It was never knowing for sure when his defibrillator would go off. It was the lack of control and predictability he hated.

And after it fired, he would sit and wait for days to see if it would fire again. Only after a week or so of quiet and steady heart rhythms and no firings would he consider returning to his normal life.

(Break)

He had gone into the hospital on Thanksgiving night. After two weeks in intensive care his doctors could not get his heart rhythms under control. My father seemed to be getting more and more discouraged. But, looking back, I?m not sure if it was discouragement or impatience. I think he knew what he wanted to do. It was the ?when? he was unsure about.

(Break)

So, on Saturday he called us to his hospital room. It was late?around 11:30 at night and he was upset. We all came: My mother and sister and brother; my sister-in-law and my partner. We were all there? like it was planned.

My father looked at us with a sense of urgency I hadn?t seen before.

He said he couldn?t keep doing this.

He said he wanted to turn the defibrillator off.

He said he?d had a good life.

He said he was ready.

He met with each of us alone, to say good bye. ?Take care of your mother.? ?Make sure you and your sister and brother get along. I never liked all the fighting? ?Get the driveway fixed.? ?Be sure to take care of your mother.? ?I love you.?

(Break)

At two o?clock in the morning his cardiologist came in. He presented my father with options, one of which included being put into a medically induced coma and being taken off all his medicines. He told my father there was a chance the medicines were causing his heart rhythm problems. My father listened without saying anything. Then said: ?No. I have a really sick heart and it?s not going to get better. Even if you get it stable now and I get to go home, it?s just a matter of time before I?m back in this place. No. No, thank you. I want you to turn it off?.

(Break)

The doctor turned the device off and my father changed. The worry and agitation were gone. He relaxed. He seemed relieved. He seemed happy. It was like, for the first time in his life, he had nothing to worry about.

My father was a spiritual and religious man?but I never saw him pray. Now, he directed us to pray with him. He led us in prayer. He started with the Act of Contrition, then the Our Father and Hail Mary and finally the Glory Be. He was in charge. He was showing us exactly how this was done.

(Break)

We all thought he would die right away. But he didn?t and we started to realize there was no way to know when he would.

So, we sat with him as he dozed and woke and told us his about his dreams.

He told us he saw two women in white veils. My father had a strong faith in the Virgin Mary. We realized later that this particular Sunday was the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe, a manifestation of Mary. I thought perhaps these two women had come to guide him along.

He joke about death not coming so quickly. Waking at one point, he looked around at us in his hospital room and chuckled and said he didn?t think it would take so long. He was almost apologetic for keeping us waiting.

Later he speculated that if this didn?t happen soon he might get to see the Buffalo Bills play that afternoon. He was lucid and calm and light hearted.

The last thing he told us was that he saw his and my mother?s dog, Maggie, looking at him in a dream. She was the last to say good-bye?

Then, around 6:45 in the morning, the warning light on his heart monitor clicked on, and the alarm sounded, and he had his last arrhythmia.

(Pause)

Only a few blocks separate the building that was the hospital where my father was born in 1927 from the building that is the hospital where he died in 2004. My father lived a simple life. He devoted himself to his family and to helping others. He was the guy who would stop to help you change a flat tire or run into a burning building to save a stranger?s life. After 35 years on the Fire Department and 77 years in the same city, he had a lot of friends. Three hundred people attended his funeral.

Sometimes I wonder why he chose that night. It could be that he had just had enough. It could be that he wanted to die on a Sunday. It could be that he was ready long before? but waited for us to be ready.

Every day since then I think about him and his death and how he died. I also think about my death. I wonder if it will be today. I wonder if I'm ready. I wonder if I?ll have the grace and the courage and the heart that my father had when it was his time to go. I wonder if I?ll be able to embrace those that I love, while letting go of everything I hold dear. I wonder if I?ll be able to use my life? and death? to teach the kind of lessons my father?taught me.

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