I held Daddy's hand and listened as his breaths came at eighteen-second intervals. A gasp followed by a silence during which all the family would hold our breath.After an extended silence, the hospice nurse leaned in to listen for a heartbeat. She nodded her head to let us know she thought he was gone.
My eyes, however, were fastened on the weak pulse in his neck, and knowing he only had a second or two more, when the nurse stepped back to note the time of death, I stepped up and placed my hand over that place. Resting my face next to his, I cradled his head with my free hand.
I can still feel the warmth of his cheek against mine and the gentle throb of life ebbing under my hand. If I concentrate, I can smell the scent of his hair and clothes. Those sensations may fade with time, but the thing that I will not, cannot ever forget, is his final and unexpected gasp of breath that literally drew my own breath into his body...and the stillness under the palm of my hand.
