Dodging the Truth

My mother visits the fresh grave of my father.

    “Should I give your father last rites?” a priest said to me over the phone.
    Dad was sick in the hospital. Terribly sick. But there was still hope for his recovery. The hospital staff was suggesting rehab clinics. They also mentioned hospice care at home if Dad’s condition became terminal.
    I didn’t wanted to dispirit Dad. He would have been demoralized by the administering of last rites, a sacrament associated with death. Better to save that ritual for when the end was near. I told the priest to hold off.
    Shortly thereafter, Dad died.
    Now I’m troubled with guilt. Dad was Catholic. He would have wanted his last rites. And I denied him that sacrament.
    Surely the staff at the hospital knew—or suspected—that Dad was dying. He looked awful. His condition was terrible. They never told me that Dad was near death. I don’t think they’re allowed to make such statements. Revealing pessimism, even if it’s truthful, might rub patients and relatives the wrong way. Better to keep hope alive.
    As a result, I was deluded by a false optimism. I inspected rehab clinics where Dad could transition to. What a waste of precious time. I could have spent more time at Dad’s bedside. Perhaps I could have been present when he died. (My brother was thankfully there when the moment arrived).
    The hospital should have been forthright about Dad’s condition. Reality over hope. That way, Dad would have gotten last rites. And I wouldn’t be burdened with regret.
    Dodging the truth eventually leads to negative consequences.