I was told once that the quality of life is for your own choosing. The same occurs at the end.
Today I found out that my father will be needing a machine to breathe in the near future. This would be attached to him wherever he goes. Currently he has a tube that is in his stomach and attaches to a longer tube and funnel. Since eating is a near impossible task, we pour a liquid that goes straight into his stomach. Easy. In my mind, after this creative contraption, what’s one more hook up? Right? Wrong. My father has decided, quite strongly, I might add, that he does not want to be attached to machines and tubes. For him, that’s not a way of life. I find myself in a particularly selfish spot, though. While I agree that machines and hook-ups aren’t fun, they provide air, options, and most of all, time.
What are we doing with this time? One might think that we have derived some massive bucket list. Things that when we were kids, we all wanted to do. When in reality, we are doing the normal things. He and I sit around and watch the Olympics. He is a train fanatic and has a large life-like set in the garage; he works on that. We make margaritas around 5 in the evening….and then we watch a show or two and head to bed. It’s not special. It’s not grand. It most certainly wouldn’t fill the pages of an 8 year old’s bucket list. But it is what we like doing. I’m ok with the mundane and the boring because it means that everything is still a bit normal.
However, this isn’t my life we are talking about. It’s his. He is the one that has the say. However forceful and stubborn my sister, mother, and I may be, it is not our call. So I sit here, after this looming news wondering what I would have done in his position. He is choosing his quality of life. The thing that he wants to be remembered by. I suppose it is our own way to be able to write the few last chapters of our book. I will say, that I am so very thankful to be witness to this particular story.