The Last Day

I was wearing a paper party hat and celebrating a girlfriend's birthday when I received the call that Hangdog did not survive his surgery. Maybe that counts as a bonding moment. He was wearing a paper surgical hat and I was wearing a "Happy Birthday" cone hat. I spoke to my brother-in-law numerous times that day. Right before surgery, I asked that he give Hangdog a kiss from me and tell him I love him. I have every confidence that this request was honored.

Two of my brothers-in-law were here when I returned home. A little of the shock had worn off and I went into Sheri-the-Reporter mode. I needed details.

Prior to receiving the "drowsy" drugs that are administered before surgery, Hangdog vacillated between lucid and having visions. Here's a little snippet of that time:

He envisioned himself fishing, one of his favorite activities. He described how clear and calm the lake was and the beauty of the scene.

He got nervous and agitated. He told my brothers-in-law that they would be nervous too if they were going home.

He wanted to stand up. When one of the boys said, "Daddy, you can't stand up because your hip is shattered," his reply was, "Then you'll both have to help me. I'm packed and ready to go."

More than once, he asked "Who is that man with a beard?"

You can interpret things many ways. I know what I see.