Dad

This morning, Maureen and Quinn and I stopped at my parents' house at around 10 a.m. My dad was watching "The Price is Right" and I told him about my friend who had gone to a taping of the show in L.A. yesterday. He was amused by this information, and we chatted about it happily.

A few hours later, he had a major stroke.

Now, he's in his bed in his dimly lit room. The only sound in the room is his oxygen machine.

He's unresponsive, for the most part. When he does open his eyes, he doesn't seem to be looking at anything in particular. He doesn't know where he is. Then he falls asleep again.

His sleep is restless, his arms raise, he opens and closes his mouth as if attempting to talk. No words come.

I sat in his recliner tonight, watching him sleep, and Quinn appeared at my side. Her gaze was fixed on Grandpa, her buddy.

Usually when we're at their house she drags a stepstool into his room and sets it at his feet. That way she can run in and out and have a place to sit while she's visiting him.

Tonight she stood next to me solemnly watching him, her blankie in one hand, her other hand resting on my knee.

"Lampa seepin'?" she finally asked me.

"Yes, sweetie," I said, stroking her hair. "Grandpa's sleepin'."

Posted by Amy at January 14, 2004 10:32 PM