February 2017, the last hours of Dritëroi

Elona Agolli

Not for a moment did I accept that my father was no more. I thought I would meet him in the afternoon.

I would listen to his voice and kiss his hands. And yet the last day of the week would come and I would go to meet him there, under the silence of the cypress trees, where it seems that there is no speech, but it is not true.

I used to chat with my father.

Now I look through my diary, what I have called Pain Sheets, almost a year ago:

February 2017

...A great worry grips my soul. Worrying about not being understood. I couldn't decipher Dad's words, gestures, hand movements 4 days before he closed his eyes.

He had four days of intubation for assisted breathing, almost the entire time he was drowsy.

- Why so? - I asked the doctor.

- The medical protocols also guide us and everything is followed according to those international protocols of the case in question. That is, one should keep in a state of sleep and calmness until the parameters are normalized and breathing can start to be activated.

So, for 6 days after being admitted to intensive care, dad was almost unresponsive and asleep the whole time. I arrived from Italy on Thursday afternoon, after an improvement on Wednesday afternoon of Dad.

Now, he called me enthusiastically, telling me about my father's strong body, which overcomes any difficult situation". These doctors do not know the power of the father. They say the bad word without thinking." - continued my more than optimistic brother.

Now it calmed me down somewhat, but a gray smoke still invaded my thoughts and mood. I was looking forward to returning and going straight to my father.
Now he was telling me how when dad was mentioned a little, the day after he was laid to rest, two drops of tears rolled down his cheeks.

He had heard his mother's voice and Tani had missed her.

On Thursday, from 7 o'clock I went to the hospital; dad slept with that horrible tube in his mouth, tied with some bandages, with gauze placed on the right side of his neck, apparently the breathing tubes. His eyes were closed and no matter how much I kissed his hands and rubbed his forehead, he did not react. The nurses advised us not to cause him emotion, and for this reason we needed to be very careful. After 6 days of intubation and after apparently not being given morphine or sleeping pills, dad opened his eyes.

He made movements with his hands as if trying to write. We gave him a folder and a white sheet along with the pen. His hand was shaking and he could not write. He put some signatures on the paper, but they couldn't be deciphered. However, it seemed to respond well. That same day they removed the tubes and Dad seemed calmer. He smiled when I went to his bed and told me that "I couldn't speak, they had put something in my mouth." He felt relieved.

In his nose were the thin oxygen tubes, just like the ones he wore at home. During two days he was a little irritated, he wanted to be taken away and run away. Apparently he was looking for the house. The nurses shouted at him and he, though an authoritative and strong man, obeyed and did not fear, but a wise child.

But from time to time, and especially when we went, he reacted by asking to be taken. Mom tried to calm him down, brushing his beautiful hair, caressing him and talking in his ear. He said: - Stay a little longer, Dritëro, because we're going home, until you get better. Calm down, get some sleep.

Dad looked up, as if talking to the birds and God. Sometimes his chin trembled, he moved his hands as if he was scaring the devils, he pursed his lips and looked like he was crying. I have in my eyes the image of my authoritarian Father, already depressed and impossible by the approach of the brunette, the witch Meremje.

Oh my babush, how longing I am now as I write. Why did I leave you there, in that iron bed, surrounded by pipes, in that death ward. You asked for help, you wanted to escape from that black prison and that's why you often said to me: "what is that thing over there, that piece of iron"; when I lowered my head one day to kiss, you grabbed my hair and pulled it. I didn't understand what you wanted my babush. When the nurses served you, you were angry and even called one of them a police officer, while those who wanted to change were told: Kokëmiser, take your hands away from where only my Sadija touches me.

As Namuzqar, you could not accept the submission and care of others for you, the dependence on other people and not on Sadija.

Apparently, when you saw that you had to lie down, when you saw that you tried to escape from the sight of your feet from that pavilion of death, it was useless, you decided not to breathe.

As soon as you drank some kiwi juice, prepared by me, you would look at me, sometimes at mom, then look away, look up. Talk to the spirits of God, my beautiful. After two hours we were given the terrible news: Cardiac arrest. 4 pm on February 3, Friday. Frozen, expressionless, cold faces. It flashed, his heart stopped.

- Don't, don't tell me. Dad, I won't see anymore. My father, my hands, my beautiful hair, I can't live without you. oh god why didn't you take me Horror, cold dad, wearing a woolen blouse, with a smile, beautiful.

My babushi, I am writing now with your pen. You loved them so much that you always wanted the only gift: parker, pen, or fountain pen. Today, the fortnight is full of the babush who is sleeping alone, on the cold ground; we left you alone babush and loneliness is killer. My father felt that there was still a little time left to be together, and that's why that afternoon when I called you, your voice was hoarse, there was anxiety, alarm, love, pleading: Lona, when are you coming?

And I, the wretch, did not understand your call. You gave yourself the power to articulate words and sentences and I heard the humming voice and I never imagined that I would find you in the hospital, in that terrible condition, with tubes and sleepy as I found you.
My Babushi, you did not fully recognize me when I was standing near the bed, as your eyes did not communicate with me. You were tired of waiting for me, and when I came it was too late.

February 16, 2017