I guess he really wanted to make it to 84.

One silver lining is my mom and I flew to Tuscon at the start of the week, so we got to see him only a few hours before he gave up.

He was in a vegetative state already when I first saw him Tuesday night, in bed, mouth agape, getting water via sponges, unable to close his eyes anymore, having trouble breathing and certainly unable to speak.

That was only 11 days after speaking with him on the phone to wish him a happy birthday, utterly unaware that would be the last time we spoke.

I’m still in shock, being less than two hours into getting the news. My planned Saturday departure has been pushed to Tuesday so we can tie up loose ends (thankfully, most arrangements had already been made in advance).

I don’t know how I’m feeling right now, and I have the luxury of still being in my hotel room while Mom contacts people ahead of meeting up and actually having to face reality.

I can say that it’s a relief that he’s no longer in pain – hospice upped his morphine frequency to every two hours just yesterday as he became “more agitated,” whatever that means when you can barely move your hands and nothing else.

Mom and the care staff said that he hadn’t so much as blinked in days, but he did upon seeing me, and then tears welled up.

You can’t really prepare for the death of a parent, no matter how steeled you think you are.