How I Got Over the Pain of Watching My Father Dying on Zoom

<p>For the third time in five minutes, I gave him the same answer: &ldquo;You&rsquo;re 87, mate.&rdquo;</p> <p>Under normal circumstances, I&rsquo;d have said, &ldquo;Fuck me&rdquo; just loud enough for him to hear, then given him a gobful for not listening, but the gurgling rattle in his chest that hijacked each breath and overwhelmed every background beep and buzz from his bed meant I wasn&rsquo;t so harsh on him this time.</p> <p>&ldquo;87, eh? That&rsquo;s good enough for me,&rdquo; he said again.</p> <blockquote> <p>As soon as he&rsquo;d wheezed those words out, his pallid, blue eyes froze and his hollow, sallow cheeks stopped still. Then the rattle disappeared.</p> </blockquote> <p>Complete silence.</p> <p>&ldquo;Dad!&rdquo; I screamed. &ldquo;Dad!&rdquo;</p> <p>I was a man of 47, but I felt like a ten-year-old boy on the side of the road pleading for my father to wake up after he&rsquo;d been crushed by a car.</p> <p>&ldquo;Dad!&rdquo; I screamed once more.</p> <p>Then the screen came to life again, covered by a bright pink finger, and a nurse looked into my eyes and said, &ldquo;Sorry, Iain. Just a few wi-fi issues. I think we&rsquo;re back on now.&rdquo;</p> <p>&ldquo;Fuck me,&rdquo; I said under my breath as I sat back down in my chair and tried to recompose myself.</p> <p>My father had been poorly for more than ten years and bedridden for the last three, so I&rsquo;d prepared myself for the inevitable time he passed away, but I hadn&rsquo;t prepared for seeing it live through a 27-inch flat screen monitor.</p> <p><a href="https://medium.com/the-memoirist/how-i-got-over-the-pain-of-watching-my-father-dying-on-zoom-a642e937075e">Website</a></p>
Tags: Dying Watching