The Kindhearted Nurse Handled Dad’s “Man Parts” and Gave Me a Happy Ending

I bathed my father. Nothing I thought I’d ever do.

I wasn’t anxious to see him this way or to care for him in this way.

I’d seen him in the buff many times when I was young when he “unwittingly” exposed himself to me, and once again as an adult when he intentionally exposed himself.

Just two weeks earlier, he was up and about, fully capable of handling all his hygienic needs himself. But not today. And before I knew it, there I was, washing my naked father.

He’d been saying for at least the last fifteen years that he was going to die soon, meaning months or at longest within the year.

Was he really gone this time? If the absence of breath and a pulse was any indication, then yes, he was gone.

Everyone came in to see him one last time. I expect, at least in part, for closure. And for some of us, assurance. Needing to see for ourselves that he had indeed passed away.

The living hugged each other and kind of just stood around like we weren’t sure what to do, no one acknowledging Dad anymore, the newly designated dead elephant in the room. Everyone wandered back into the hall leaving Dad alone.