In this thread I was asking for people’s experiences with having a loved one die at home.
We brought Papa home from the hospital Saturday around 3:30 pm. A hospice nurse and social worker came and helped us get him situated. They also helped us with what to expect and showed us how to make him comfortable with morphine and a few other medications. Check out the other thread for an incredible list of what he suffered with.
Saturday morning at the hospital he was just a little responsive, but the ride home exhausted him and he never responded to us again.
There were a few scary moments when he seemed like he could not get any air, but it was what the hospice nurse told us to expect - air hunger. We talked to him and soothed him and held his hand and kissed him. We told him we love him and how proud we are of him.
Family came to visit throughout the evening. Me and three of his other grandsons gathered around him and talked about the good times we had growing up with him as our Papa. We talked about playing in the creeks, fishing in his ponds, riding the horses, exploring the barns and garages at his house, shooting BB guns, just being rambunctious young boys in a fantastic place to be a kid. As we were talking, he opened his eyes and looked around. If he could have, I think he would have smiled. But we knew he could hear us. And I knew he was glad we were sharing this time with him. We told him that we loved him and we thanked him for all he had done for us. We encouraged him that this was his time to go, and we would be ok. We let him know it was fine for him to leave his broken body. Don’t struggle any more.
His pulse remained steady through the night, but his breathing moved more and more down to his belly. Instead of his chest rising, his stomach did. He was progressing nicely 
.
As the sun came up, I went into his room. It was the room where we always had Christmas dinner. There is a view of the fields, and a view of the fish pond at the bottom of the hill. A gentle mist was settled over the farm. It was surreal, and beautiful. It was a good day to die.
In my mind, he would be alive another 24 hours. I left around 1pm to drive my great aunt home to get some clothes, then I went home to rest up for another long night. My grandmother went to the store.
My dad called and he was getting blotchy red and purple marks on his feet and knees. This is a sign that his circulation is stopping. I told him I would be there soon. He called me back in five minutes and said “I think he is going”. There was a hitch in his voice, but not despair.
Papa was surrounded by his three children when he took his last breath. He waited until I left, and my grandmother left. I don’t think he wanted her to get upset by seeing him pass. He wanted to share his last minutes with his kids, and that is what he did.
Among other things, he was a combat medic in the 45th infantry division in WW2. When I think of him entering heaven, I imagine him welcomed by 19 year old kids who were his friends that died in the war. I imagine people lining up to say, “Hey Johnny, thanks for pulling me back to safety”. “Thanks for risking your life to come to me when I cried MEDIC!” And I imagine 70 and 80 year old men who survived the war because Papa was brave enough to go get them, no matter the danger. I can hear them saying,“Thanks for making it possible for me to live, and fall in love, and enjoy kids and grand kids.”
Papa, I am proud of you. I love you. I hope some day to be half the man you were.
William A. “Johnny” Johnson
May 5, 1923-July 20, 2006