Checking In
“When you get home from school, please check to see if your father’s still breathing.”
“Yeah, mom.”
I softly opened the farmhouse front door and stepped onto the blackish-gray carpet of the living room. The black fibers were woven into the carpet, not by the manufacturer, but by our feet matting the fur shed from our two black labs. Exposed wood beams surrounded all other sides. The beams stood exposed, covered in the chalky dingleberries of horsehair plaster that remained as a reminder of the impromptu hope-filled renovation that began 10 years before.
Gently, I greeted Nigel and Chloe and looked across the room. As routine, he lay reclined in his special La-Z-Boy that sat parallel with the edge of the kitchen. I remained quiet. For if he was sleeping, I desired not to take any rest from him, hopeful that each moment would bring him increased peace and health.
A whiff of evergreen filled the air. The pleasant pine aroma battled the blend of dog and dusty dingleberry, producing a potpourri fit for a farmhouse. Burning from the kitchen, the candle’s seasonal smell sauntered past the La-Z-Boy, through the living room, and around our forest-green Christmas tree still loitering in the corner atop its wire metal stand in April.
Whether a medical side effect or a product of his nature, he was a quiet sleeper and shallow breather. I often couldn’t determine his state by ear alone. Complicating the clues, his face showed muted with a blue hue and hid beneath a slightly scruffy Civil War style beard.
The practice required disciplined stillness. My eyes locked on his chest, distinguishing any movement. My ears opened, discerning any sound.
Is today the day, I wondered.
The check-in routine never became easier—not that I noticed then. That type of reflection was unimportant relative to the responsibility. Emotions served no use in the clinical analysis and would only be a hindrance if action were needed.
“hcckhmmmm,” his chest reflexed as he caught his breath. Relieved, I found my own, not realizing I had been holding it.
