These next two posts are going to be the hardest to write. My dear father, Reed Lynn Rasmussen, has been suffering for 10 years of a traumatic brain injury induced dementia. Sparing the details of his gradual decline, I was notified by my sister Leann that he had fallen out his bed in a nursing home 3 days before and fractured his hip. Having been in orthopaedic wards, as well on internal medicine before, the traditional course for hip fractures associated with fall from "whatever" usually results in a rapid decline of the patient, and such was the case for him. I was able to secure emergency leave after a Red Cross notification, and was on a plane home within days, 7000 miles away.
After Korea to L.A, and then L.A to Fresno, I was graciously picked up by Dad McNaughton, and taken over to the hospital to see my dad, who was inpatient at Fresno Community Hospital. His mental status and inoperability of his condition necessitated a final discharge disposition of hospice care, which he was eventually transferred to a new home that would assist in his transition.
When I walked into the room of Fresno Community, I cried seeing him. I love my dad, despite his many imperfections, and it broke my heart to see a man that once was vibrant and humorous, now pass between a brief moment of lucidity back to sleep. He was heavily drugged as most hospice "comfort care" dictated treatment is, which didn't help the situation. But either way, it was wonderful to catch him for the moments I could.
In moments he would awaken and I would attempt to reorientate him, and when he saw me he would remember me every time, but would always mix my name and profession up with my older brother Brandon. I would try to tell him what he could before he would fall asleep, and do all I could to keep him comfortable, warm, covered (as he continually tried to take off his sheets). He would relate things he was seeing in the room, none of which were real, but it was still fun to run with him in the conversation, like I do with my 4 year old.
Day after day my siblings would join me. On day two I offered my dad a priesthood blessing, and he said "son I would really like that." That was, up to this point, the clearest communication he had had, but that was one of the hardest blessings I have ever given. I did not feel like I could "release" him from this life, which was eventually done by one of his friends he had when he eventually passed away the next month.
So I wish to conclude with one vital and important memory from this. I went to go one day after attempting to talk with him for a while. He was falling back asleep, and out of no where I got my miracle I didn't think possible. He suddenly woke up, looked at me, and said "Kevin, I love you, and I want you to know how proud I am of you, and who you have become. I love you son." I just burst into tears. He not only remembered me, but remembered my name, and was able to relay just enough to tell me what really matters.
I couldn't thank my Heavenly Father enjoy for this tender mercy moment. This occurred on the last day before I would have to fly back, and gave me the feeling that this was the last moment I would see my dad alive. It was, and what a way to end on such a high note. I truly believe our lives are full of these tender mercies, but the trick is to have the eyes to see and ears to hear it.
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