Watching and listening to the breathing of a person who has been in your life since 1950, is a silent vigil of wishing for death to come quickly; wishing that this strong marine of WWII could finish his life with the dignity in which he lived his life. Wishing for many things.
He would not want to live this way. His life was one of always working; always “piddling” around; his hands always building.
We watch in respectful silence with our own thoughts. It was a day of strokes and then the fall at the end, hitting his head on the hard tile floor. His will to walk to the bathroom; his mind remembering the pattern etched in his brain; his will to do things on his own terms; his own way.
Almost twenty four hours and yet he sleeps without food or water. Has his body begun the process of shutting down? Will he wake soon and continue trying to live a life already well lived? There is no answer.
Memories of another time, another place, not so long ago, come rushing back without bidding. A young life leaving this earth a much smaller place just as this leaving will force a deep look into what is important and what spaces will have to be filled as the gap narrows between this life and the next.