Today is Saturday and I am going to continue the little story about the move, so at some point I can go on to present time. After Dad's surgery he was moved into a rehab. center to try to get him back on his feet again. At 93, this is not an easy task. He was hopeful he would be up and about and back with his family as soon as possible. He was determined not to die there.

In the meantime, I completed the move and supervised the remodel. Mom moved in almost a month before Dad was released. Although I thought they would want separate rooms, since this was what they had had before, Dad made it clear that he wanted to sleep with his wife. The little room they were in was pretty crowded. It was sad to see them reduced to such a small space. Dad was content but hated to be dependent on others for his every need. The Sunday before Thanksgiving, he told us that he hoped the family would all be there because it would be his last Thanksgiving. I asked if wanted me to call to call Hospice and he said yes. He died the Sunday afternoon that followed Thanksgiving. My husband, brother, sister-in-law and my Mom were all here.

My husband had been a devoted caregiver, getting up several times a night to change the bed, the disposable briefs and so on. He knew things were not going to last long and he had been happy to do what he could.