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Be Not Afraid Caringdidn’t. He’d start to pick up, but then his fever wouldrecur and send him on the next round of antibiotics.Finally we realized that things had gone on far toolong, and arranged for home nursing care twenty-fourhours a day. He declined rapidly, weakening to the pointwhere his doctor told him it might be the end. Our mindsstruggled to grasp what was happening. Where were theintimate moments of farewell I’d imagined to be part ofa death? Privacy seemed a thing of the past, and I chafedunder the need to relate to an ever-present nurse. Howcould I tell Dad in words how much he’d meant to me?And wouldn’t that be admitting the truth of what hisdoctor had said? I shed my tears in private.We groped to adjust, as relationships in our familykaleidoscoped dizzily. There was Mom’s role reversal:before, Dad had always looked out for her; now hedepended on her to look after him. A hospital bed in aseparate room replaced the bed they’d shared for fiftyoddyears, and everywhere you turned were spittoons,oxygen wires, glasses of water sporting straws, anddishes of barely-touched food.With doctor’s appointments, blood tests, bed changes,and baths, there seemed few hours of the day whereDad could be truly peaceful. And besides these outerdistractions, he was constantly short of breath. Comforteluded him, and he was always fussing with sheets,pillows, and leg positions. Nothing I could do seemed160