By Bob Comeans
Dad never knew. By the time he was diagnosed with lung cancer he was sedated into unconsciousness, on a respirator, and lying in an intensive care unit.
I had received the phone call twelve hours earlier from my sister in Ohio, “Dad’s having trouble breathing. We’re going to the hospital.”
I got in the car and drove for nine hours. Two hours out I was told, “There’s nothing more we can do.” I drove faster.
Walking down the hospital hallway, I stopped for a moment to prepare myself for a day I had known would eventually come. I knew Dad was surrounded by people who loved him, his brothers and sisters, as well as his daughter.
As his oldest son I knew I would have a decision to make. After a time of family sharing and a short talk with the doctor, I told them, “Dad told me he doesn’t want to be here for this. We are going to disconnect his life support. I will listen to any objections, but this decision is on me.” They silently agreed.
Dad lasted 22 hours before he rejoined his wife and youngest son. He opened his eyes for one last split-second look around, and then he was there. It must have been quite the journey.