A Moment in Time

**Caution...this entry might be a bit too graphic for some to read.**
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We didn't see it coming. None of us did.

When I went to my parents' apartment Tuesday night, I had no idea I would be spending my final moments with my father, Haynes Cecil Knox.

Jessie came to our house and told me to go check on Haynes. He said he was "feeling funny in his chest, arms and back." Those symptoms are never good ones. I was thinking we were in for a long night. I had no idea what was in store.

"OK. I need to change clothes first." I went to my room and changed clothes. Jessie went to the apartment and came back with her blood pressure machine. Jessica went to the apartment to get a couple of pizzas from her grandparents' freezer.

"Hey, Pop!"

"Hey, Doll!"

Back in our house, "it probably just needs batteries." I got a couple of batteries and PRESTO! We went out and I proceeded to take Haynes' blood pressure. After 3 tries, it appeared on the higher side of normal for Haynes, but not drastically abnormal.

"I think we should still go to the hospital, Dad."

"I don't want to go. I don't want to go and be there for some 3 or 4 days." I didn't realize it then, but he was giving me a clue. He knew the signs, as well as how he felt. This was going to be "it."

"Maybe. Maybe not. We need to get this checked out." Haynes conceded and started getting himself together. I grabbed a couple of sandwiches to eat while he got ready.

Once he was ready, he started getting in the wheelchair. I turned and moved his walker out of the way and did something I never would do...I folded it up and placed it in a corner out of the way in the apartment. As I did, I got a sense that I would not be getting the walker back out of the corner. I didn't take time to reflect on that thought, though. I just took Haynes to the car to get him loaded up.

As we were getting ready to get in the car, Haynes spoke the last words I would hear him speak in this life: "Joel, I appreciate you doing this. I just hate to be a bother."

I responded "Dad, this is no bother. I want to make sure you're OK."

With that, he started climbing into the car. As he did, he struggled to get in his seat. I help him in the rest of the way and closed the door. I loaded the wheelchair and we were on our way.

Right now, Conroe has to be one of THE most difficult towns to navigate in the north Houston area thanks to a LOT of construction around I-45. More recently, old Hwy 75 or Frazier Street, has been quite rough due to a re-surfacing project. I took Frazier so we could avoid traffic and sudden stops along I-45 but forgot about the uneven lanes and jarring bumps and holes in the road's surface. In spite of my attempts to avoid them, it seemed that Haynes felt every bump along the way. He was constantly shifting and adjusting himself in the seat. It was with great relief that we finally got off Frazier and turned toward the freeway and the hospital.

Haynes was still shifting in his seat when we came to the red light just before the freeway. I was looking up at the red light and saw out of the corner of my eye a quick, jerking motion. I turned to see my hero gripping the car handle with one hand and clutching his chest with the other. His head was leaned back and his eyes began to roll back in his head. I wouldn't realize until several hours later that at this point, at the red light at Gladstell and the northbound feeder of I-45, Haynes had departed this life for the next.

In the days since, I've gone back over the events that happened around 7:15 PM on September 13th. I've come to believe that Haynes had an idea of what was happening to him. When I think about how he's had to struggle to do everything - from putting on his clothes, to getting in and out of a chair or their car to just walking across the floor to grab a bite to eat or prepare for bed, it is easy to find comfort in knowing that at that moment, in that place, the struggle was finally over.