Goodbye, Mr Brecht!
This afternoon, my patient Mr Brecht died. I first got the news from a phone call from one of the other caregivers. I then got another call from another caregiver who has taken care of him for over 2 years. We chatted for a long while on the phone. I also got a text message from one of his former caregivers who was instrumental for me to do this gig which I had on a part-time basis for over a year.
Life suddenly just stops, without us getting better prepared for its departure. Who really knows when exactly the moment someone dies? I didn't even had the chance to bid him goodbye on my way out this afternoon after I was done with my gig for his wife.
I figured out somehow, based on the past few weeks that I was with him that he'd be dying soon; he was simply refusing to eat food. Perhaps, he just had so much difficulties taking in food, this life giving substance that then was turning into a terrible ordeal to ingest. There were other signs. Signs that I recall seeing from my late Father, but I was ignoring them as I was preoccupied with a lot of other things.
I just thought I have to share this, to help unload the burden, to prepare my mind for a better set of memories about him. I'm both sad and happy; he's gone through so much hardships with his health concerns. I can just imagine what happens to me when I grow much older myself (if I'd be given such opportunity). But he's been a courageous man; one of the few men I've met here to be among the most learned. I was glad to have met and known him, and have been given the chance to provide caregiving services to him. I learned so much in the process, given the fact that I never had much opportunities to have conversations with him.
On the way to the subway tonight after I went to Mr Brecht's house to express my condolences, my other co-caregiver shared some other notes now clearer to her. During my gig this afternoon, I was asked to unlock the security grill of the front window. I remember Mr Brecht's eyes, wide open with some tinge of a surprise. The grill was folded to the side to allow the windows to get unlocked and opened. The act became a prelude, a sign of his passing away, as he was then, but unknown to us, on the process of being let go.
Life suddenly just stops, without us getting better prepared for its departure. Who really knows when exactly the moment someone dies? I didn't even had the chance to bid him goodbye on my way out this afternoon after I was done with my gig for his wife.
I figured out somehow, based on the past few weeks that I was with him that he'd be dying soon; he was simply refusing to eat food. Perhaps, he just had so much difficulties taking in food, this life giving substance that then was turning into a terrible ordeal to ingest. There were other signs. Signs that I recall seeing from my late Father, but I was ignoring them as I was preoccupied with a lot of other things.
I just thought I have to share this, to help unload the burden, to prepare my mind for a better set of memories about him. I'm both sad and happy; he's gone through so much hardships with his health concerns. I can just imagine what happens to me when I grow much older myself (if I'd be given such opportunity). But he's been a courageous man; one of the few men I've met here to be among the most learned. I was glad to have met and known him, and have been given the chance to provide caregiving services to him. I learned so much in the process, given the fact that I never had much opportunities to have conversations with him.
On the way to the subway tonight after I went to Mr Brecht's house to express my condolences, my other co-caregiver shared some other notes now clearer to her. During my gig this afternoon, I was asked to unlock the security grill of the front window. I remember Mr Brecht's eyes, wide open with some tinge of a surprise. The grill was folded to the side to allow the windows to get unlocked and opened. The act became a prelude, a sign of his passing away, as he was then, but unknown to us, on the process of being let go.
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