Papa looked nothing like himself at this point, but he was comfortable and breathing steady, which was better than the day before when he was in pain and his breath kept stopping. His son Mark was there so I stayed and talked to him for a while. We told some stories about Papa and laughed and cried over them. My aunt got there and we did some more of the same and then I leaned over and, holding his cold hand, said "Papa, I'm going to go have pizza with the kids... it's not Tuesday (we did pizza every Tues with him for a LONG time when I was a young adult) but we do ours on Friday. So I'm going to go do that and I'll be back tomorrow" I told him I loved him, thanked him for all he has done for me and said it was okay to go. He squeezed my finger a tiny bit and his eyebrow went up. (maybe just from pain) I prayed for him silently... for God's mercy and for his salvation.
About 15 minutes after I got home, my mom called me to tell me he was gone. I was so caught off guard. I was *just* there - and he was doing ok... whatever 'ok' means for someone dying from multiple cancers - and even though I knew it was coming soon, I cried like it was brand new news. And then after a few phone calls, I had to pull it together to sit down with the kids for their movie.
It made me think of when I went to Rachel's grave after the first snow fall in November and this tree stopped me in my tracks.