Crying

Chewbacca cried all night. At some point, I yelled "go to bed" in a frustrated loud voice from the futon. 

This is all bringing back the last week of my dad's life. My dad wouldn't cry, but my dad would see strange things, he called them "passers by". 

Later, I found out that when your organs are shutting down, the toxins can cause delusions. At one point, my dad saw his daughter Barbara (who passed away when I was in high school) by his side. 

I like to think that my dad's vision of his departed daughter's image was not a delusion but instead, that maybe she was helping my dad transition. 

It's 4 am and Chewie is wheezing in his sleep. I need to wake him up to give him his medicine which helps with the wheezing, but I don't want to wake him up. He's snoring and I want to pick him up and cuddle him. There's not much time left. I know this.

So even though I am so tired. And so exhausted. And not my best self, I know there is a beauty to this time. I know I will miss even this. And just like my father, who I would give anything to see alive for even a moment, I also know it will break me apart when Chewie is gone. Into pieces.