He was having nighttime hallucinations. Lying with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, he stretches his long, slender fingers toward the wall, “They've come to get me. They're pulling me off my feet," he muttered.
We were anticipating the arrivals, holding his hand tightly so as not to send it.
It was a life-or-death war with a known outcome...
Even though we knew we were going to be beaten, we kept pulling.
And my father, unfortunately, was on the side of those who called him.
* * *
It was peerless because...
His peers were long gone. With every friend he buried, he gave a piece of his joy of living to the ground...
She lived on the windowsill, looking at the bedside photo of her "honorable" son, hoping he would show up.
It was a descendant of trees that died standing.
He spent his last years begging, "Take it without losing your hand, my Lord"...
Since I've known him, he was stylish and well-groomed to collect his messy hair in the hospital's emergency elevator...
While he had led such a life, he did not want to fall into bed in need of care and be a burden to others.
Not hanging on to life

http://thedarktouch.de/blogs/ohne/index.html%3Fp=371.html
He had learned and taught to be grateful for what he lived.
“I've had a hard life, but I've seen your success, your wedding, my granddaughter's growth; It is enough for me”.
* * *
Even though I didn't want to let go of his hand, I knew it would be selfish to keep him alive despite him.
We were waiting in a “terminal” between two worlds.
A few surgeries by his beloved doctors, who took care of him, might have delayed the final train a little, but it was certain that he would live a few more months in the intensive care, among the patients he did not know, and would settle for less at home, in his own bed, in the arms of his family.
I made the hard decision.
I picked him up from the hospital and brought him home. I got ready for a peaceful finale.
We turned his last days into a farewell feast, in spite of those who pulled him on his feet.
We moved the bed into the living room. We opened TRT-Muzik. His wife, son, daughter-in-law, grandchild, bird, relatives, we all tried to make him happy and relieve his pain.
We did not hide our tears; We did not hold back our laughter.
Is it hard? We prayed inside ourselves.
Is it sad? We sang her favorite song in her ear with my mother:
“I will say a lot, but you are in a very crowded place...”
* * *
All these years we couldn't say what we could say... We hid from each other, our pain and our love...
It was a half-century-old lump in my throat...
I also untied that knot by going.
One of the nights when he got heavy, he opened his eyes and said to my ear, “My end is near, son. Trust my God," he whispered.
"Don't leave us daddy," I sobbed, clutching his hand.
“Don't cry, son,” she was able to say.
My sentences, which were never said and delayed until they were said, came with farewell kisses:
“I love you so much dad; I was able to say, "You've been a very good father to me."
I heard the word "mutual".
I stroked her hair and lay next to her.
I felt the peace of being able to say goodbye and say goodbye to him so beautifully.
Not long after, he breathed his last with a tiny smile on the side of his lip, on the chest of his wife of 51 years...
When the long pastrami, which resisted the winter, was over, my father was lifeless, Can is without a father.
* * *
Her nonstop watch is now on her granddaughter's wrist...
As his pulse beats, the wheel of time will turn and when the day comes, I hope he will send his father away to caress like this.

(Can DÜNDAR, 14 December 2010)