I continue writing about helping my father as he completed his life. At this posting my father has already died, but this piece and the following few posts concern his end days.
He snuck that last breath by me. It was a soft little breath.
For a day and a half he had been curled against the raised bed and mounds of pillows, his head tilted and turned to the right so he wouldn’t choke on secretions and on the morphine tucked and massaged into his cheek. Read more