Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night
Jul 14, 2018
This morning, my father-in-law collapsed and died in his own home, surrounded by his wife of 49 years, his son (my husband), me, and his grandson. He took one last breath as MrM administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and I pumped his heart. Then he was gone.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
An hour earlier, he had raged against the hospital which was trying to hold him for a diagnosis after a prior collapse. He had an intense mistrust of hospitals, and did not wish to be there a minute longer than needed. He was fine, he insisted. He has walked this road before, even literally walking back when the doctors were reluctant to let him go. Knowing he was stubborn and he would do exactly as he wanted, he was brought back home.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
I suspect he knew his end was near, and chose to come home and pass on his own terms.
Roughly 7 hours earlier, at 3:40am, I awoke to the sound of a loud thud. I had been sick the last 2 days with a stomach bug, and was only partially conscious. My FIL had fallen down on his way back to bed from the bathroom. He was conscious, but too weak to move. As my mother-in-law woke my husband up and they attended to my father-in-law, I lowered my face in a bucket and hurled my guts out, my sickness getting the best of me. The next few hours were a blur. My FIL was admitted to the hospital. When there, he insisted that since the EMT’s EKG was not pointing to a cardiac failure, he was in good health and should be released.
At 10:30am, he left the hospital on his own terms, came home, and reached a sudden end. From my sickness induced daze, I made out the sound of the second loud thud of the day, followed by my husband’s quick footfalls running up the stairs, and then the strange sound of pumping. As soon as I saw my husband pumping and breathing for my FIL, I fell into place by his chest, taking over the chest compressions as he did the breathing. One, Two, Three, Four,.. counting the compressions, pausing for the breathing. Two times, we almost got him back, a slight movement of his lips, a hint of a groan, but then his heart refused to kick in.
The EMTs took over from us, intubating him, injecting adrenaline, and using a mechanical pump. Nothing worked. We knew it was time to let go. As they unplugged him, we all took turns hugging his ashen form, saying our final farewell. He wrote his own story down to the last word.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Providence. It covers everything that happened in the days leading up to today. I haven’t been to Germany in two years. We almost planned this trip shorter and would have flown back yesterday. We weren’t going to be here this weekend even with the long trip, having set our hearts and minds on going to Berlin for the weekend.
Then, the dice of coincidence began to roll. We booked a longer trip. We spent time together, with my FIL telling me about his family history, showing me the path of his life on a map of Germany. My husband’s sister and her family decided to join here for a few days, bringing more sunshine and laughter to this full house. Grandparents surrounded by all their children and grandchildren. After my SIL left, we went away for two days to Amsterdam, and returned to find my in-laws still in great spirits. We started planning this weekend’s trip to Berlin.
The dice wasn’t done rolling. Within 24 hours, I started vomiting violently, presumably from a stomach bug. When I didn’t recover right away, we put Berlin on hold. Yesterday, I started feeling better, but grew weak again, and we scrapped Berlin altogether.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
This morning, we were all home when my FIL’s demise began to unfurl like a rapid summer storm that couldn’t hold its rainwater in any more. It swept us up in its urgency, and carried us on its sheer might, until the final fall. And just like that, we were one person less, my FIL having left us after a week of unrestrained happiness and family time.
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
In his bright and airy room, I place a gentle kiss on his rapidly cooling forehead, and then touch his feet, a mark both of giving my respects and seeking his blessings.
May my father-in-law rest in peace, riding horses over gentle meadows, sharing his wealth of knowledge and lore, drinking his favorite beverages, and having a good hearty laugh.
(Verses from: Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night, by Dylan Thomas)
Meera, I am in tears now feeling with you. What a lyric obituary. Your father-in-law was a man of his own decisions. He accepted what was to come and as the dice rolled, he played his own game. I am not religious, but even I can see a certain providence here.
Dear Meera, I read your beautiful obituary only now (Jul 19) and I am overwelmed with memories – so recent! – reading it. Thank you for this beautiful gift to papa and to the family.