A Loved One’s Last Days

were tragic, heart wrenching and darn near heart-breaking.

His wife of thirty years transitioned on the seventh. She was seventy-three, he was eighty-five. The NEXT day his wife’s daughter had her remains cremated. Two days later she picked up the remains and left town.

Then, one of his daughters flew in from one part of the country to ‘help’ with the situation.  Her style of help was to insist he go into an assisted living facility in two days.

In three days time, he lost his wife, his home, and his liberty.

This placement of him in a Care Facility did not include the callous-cold-hearted twittering-ninny telling anyone, ANYONE, of his recent loss, or where he was.

As he was being moved into his new life in the assisted living facility, he doubled over with stomach pains. To a local E.R. they went. Said daughter got him situated with a physician and left.  With her leaving, went all information as to where he was left with her.

Isolation, successful isolation was her parting blow to her father.

Days turned to weeks. His neighbours, friends and his church family looked for him. Too, they looked for an obituary notice of his wife. Neither were to be found.

Weeks later a Pastor found him in a hospital room nearly incoherent, dirty and unshaven. He was being moved to a Hospice facility on another floor, within the hour.

There were prayers said, songs sang, and many  I love yous said.  Another Pastor visited. More songs, more prayers and Psalms were prayed.

Two days later in the wee early hours of a Saturday morning, he transitioned.

This tragedy could have been avoided.  He knew his daughter hated him. He could have given his Power of Attorney to any stranger on the street and known compassion in his last days.

 

 

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