ON THE 12TH ANNIVERSARY OF DAD’S GOING HOME

WELCOME

If you are visiting my blog for the first time, please read my Introductory Post from December 2016 shown under this post.

The following is a story of the events which took place the last day I spent with my dad. I wanted to remember them so I wrote this during the few days between the day of his death, March 9, and the day of his Victory Celebration, March 12, 2005.

     THE LAST WORDS OF MARTIN CHARLES LOPAHS
On Wed. March 2, 2005, at 12:30 pm, I was taking my father to a doctor’s appointment. We never made it into the building as my father had collapsed in the parking lot. At first I thought he may have stumbled, losing his balance and falling straight backward, hitting his head on the pavement. Later we found that a cerebral hemorrhage had occurred which caused the fall. I felt helpless as I realized he was going down. When I knelt at his side, I saw that he was unconscious and began to yell for help, but there was no one around. I ran into the building yelling until I got to the doctor’s office, opened the door, and shouted that my father had fallen and was unconscious. I then ran back out to him and he had his eyes open. He said “Help me get up. Help me into the car so I can go home.” I told him to try to relax and that help was on the way. As he struggled to get up, I tried to hold him down since I didn’t know how extensive his injuries were. He asked “What happened? Tell me what happened?” I explained that he had fallen down and needed to stay still until help arrived. He kept repeating that question over and over. Also, several times he asked “Where are my glasses?” and I replied that I had them. When about 4-5 people ran out to us, they tried to ask him about his injuries but he only repeated those same questions.
I could not focus my attention on him for the next few minutes as a rescue squad and the police arrived. They asked me many questions concerning the fall and his past health history. Once he was moved into the van, they let me go inside too so I could be near him while they continued questioning me. He said “Where’s my daughter? Where’s Kathie, my daughter?” I took his hand and reassured him that I was right there. He kept alternately asking “What happened? Could someone please tell me what happened?” and “Where’s my daughter?” When they were ready to transport him to the hospital, I got out and followed them in my car.
Once I joined him in the emergency room, I was again-and many times throughout the day-questioned about the fall and his general health background. As I stood by his side, he continued asking “Could someone please tell me what happened?” The staff attending him tried to explain it to him, but he was not responding to their answers. I then tried asking him if he could hear me and if he could understand me, but he still didn’t respond. His eyes were open and I knew he was able to see us. Once when a nurse came up to him he said “Hi there.”
Before they had put him on the stretcher in the parking lot, they fastened a collar around his neck to protect it and a padded block on each side of his head, joined across his forehead. These were still on him and, as he reached up to feel the band, he pulled on it and said “My head hurts. This is hurting my head.” After they removed those blocks he never again mentioned that he was in any pain. The staff continued to come in and out of the room while I stayed at his side. He began to pull at the collar around his neck and asked “Could someone take this off? Please take this off.” We tried to explain to him that it needed to stay on until they could take an x-ray of his neck to make sure it wasn’t injured. But he persisted in pulling on it and asking for it to be taken off. Once when several of the staff were around him he said “Please take this off me. Pretty please?” They smiled and I commented on how he’s always been very polite.”
His questions continued about what happened and his requests to have the collar removed. Once or twice he quieted down, looked up at the ceiling and in a frustrated tone said very softly “Oh joy!” (This was a common phrase he always used when things were not going well.) Since I was right there at his side, he would look at me sometimes and ask me to take the collar off. When he said “Lady, would you please take this off?” I realized that he did not know me. He wasn’t hearing me, understanding me or recognizing me. I felt that my presence was not comforting him because he only saw me as someone who was not helping him.
While we were alone for a brief period of time, he almost pulled the collar off his neck. I called for help and they decided they would need to restrain his arms. He was taken out of the room once for a CT scan of his head and then I was able to make a few phone calls to Tudor Oaks and home. Once he was back in the room he no longer mentioned the collar. As we waited for the results of the CT scan, he strained and tried to undo the restraints and called out periodically “Help! Will someone help me please?” His voice was loud and strong. He kicked his legs continually, sometimes way up toward the ceiling, and finally was able to kick his shoes off. His socks were black and blue! (One was black, the other blue.) They put a blanket over him which I tried to keep on him without luck. The room felt cold to me but fortunately he still had his shirt and pants on.
When the CT results came back the doctor was not very hopeful of any kind of recovery. They needed to do a neck x-ray before taking the collar off but he was too agitated. They gave him some medication to help him relax and later another dose. He remained agitated although his eyes were no longer open and he stopped calling for help. Once I noticed a tear in the corner of his left eye. They tried a different medication and, while we waited for it to take effect, his speech became mostly unintelligible. He had learned several languages during his lifetime beside English – German, Latin, Hebrew, and Greek – so even though I could not understand what he was saying, it sounded to me like he could have been speaking in a foreign language. He would utter a phrase and end it with Amen.” This went on for some time. I would guess he said “Amen” several dozen times. While the hours passed I tried singing to him any hymn that would come to mind, usually “Heaven is My Home.”
When they thought he had calmed down enough, they took him for the x-ray. I was again alone in the room for a few minutes and so made some more phone calls. They brought him back saying that he was still pretty active so they weren’t sure they got a good picture. One of the staff had to almost lie down on top of him. They told me he even was reaching into his pocket and throwing pieces of hard candy at them.
While I was waiting for the x-ray results and the paperwork to be processed for admitting him, he was much calmer and not quite as talkative. Most of the words he said I could not understand but I very clearly heard him say “Jesus” several times and “Heaven” once. They then took him upstairs to intensive care and got him settled in a room while I waited in the family waiting room. I spent about half an hour in his room with him (it was now 8:30 pm) but he never spoke again. Seven days later he went to heaven.