Peter Dodd Nichols March 20th1964 - July 27th 1988

July 24, 1988. That was the day that would change our lives forever. That night I had a dream that I want to document in writing so I don't forget......ever. Going through the last few days with my father has really brought up a lot of past issues with the loss of my brother. I will write the dream as it happened and most references will be hard to understand, but will mean everything to me.

I am in the basement of the Traverse's house with my hands on the door leading to the under of the house, pushing on it, when I suddenly realize that there is someone on the other side holding it shut. I turn and run upstairs. When I get to the top of the stairs the home turns into the house I grew up in on Westover. Once I realize the house is mine, I feel someone chasing me, so I run to the side door, thru the kitchen, go to grab the door knob of the white smoked door and the knob is missing and the hole is open. I pause and behind me is a stream of white fog, coming up behind very quickly. I feel like it is going to consume me, but it flies over my left shoulder and through the hole in the door where the door knob would've been.

I suddenly awake. I have the feeling that there is someone in my bedroom. I look at my Golden Retriever, Brutus, and he is asleep on my bed. I know if someone was in the room he would be awake. I turn on the lights and look around. No one to be found, but still that feeling is there that someone is in my room. A presence felt, very strong. My heart is pounding. I look outside, no one. The dog is still asleep on my bed leading me to believe that all is safe.

The next day I learned that my brother, Peter was killed in the middle of the night in Alaska, trying to protect and stand up for a friend. I suddenly realize that the profound dream I had the night before was my brother's spirit coming to me to say goodbye. What else could it possibly be? We both came from the same place, made up of the same DNA. The universe is an amazing place. Believe, anything can happen.

Peter I love you.

Tuesday August 30, 2011 9:28 PST

The time was 6:33 pm PST on Monday August 29, 2011. My father took his last breath. I kept waiting for the next inhale, and it never came. I really can't believe how fast everything went. It is still a blurr the next morning, but I want to get it down before I loose any details.

Late afternoon yesterday he seemed to be struggling with breathing. I climbed on the bed to hold his hand and realized his nailbeds and fingers were turning blue. I new we only had hours left so I had to make some decisions.

I called his sister, Cynthia, who lives in Michigan and told her I thought we didn't have much time left and would she like to talk to him. I told her he had not been lucid since my arrival, but I could put her on the speaker phone and hold it to his ear and she could say whatever she wished to him. I don't know why I didn't think of this before, I never got to say goodbye to my brother and for years I wish I had.

I then called both my children and asked them to talk to grandpa for the last time. I know he could hear everything even though there was no response. I remember him telling me the hardest part of this for him would be not seeing his grandchildren mature into adults.

I'm not sure of the exact order of things but Eanna read a prayer while I blessed him with oil and water from the Jordan river. Eanna had been singing the Beatles "Blackbird singing in the dead of night" all day to him. It was the most beautiful thing, her voice was perfect and the lyrics dead on.

We had opened a bottle of Champagne to toast Stephen and stood around the bed and raised our glasses to him. The whole family was in the room with him. I was holding him on one side and Eanna was singing the Blackbird song. His breathing was so shallow, it was so hard to tell if the next one was going to come or not. He took his last breath of life at 6:33pm. It was the most beautiful, peaceful, loving transition I ever could have hoped for.

Hopefully Peter is now showing his father the way. They have a lot of catching up to do. They ran a marathon together once when Peter was in Jr. High. I can see them doing that now. Runnig in the heavens, together.

I love you Daddy

I love you Peter

Monday August 29, 2011 4:18 pm PST

This is one of my most favorite photos of my father. Taken in Traverse City Michigan, on vacation and celebrating his 50th birthday. This is such a natural smile. We started our vacation that year in Columbus, OH celebrating Aunt Ruth Fergus' 90th birthday along with a Fergus mini reunion. We continued the adventure by traveling to Troy, OH where my father and his sister spent the majority of their youth. We then drove up north to Traverse City, MI to spend a week with his sister, Cynthia and her family. This photo was taken by Cynthia at Interlochen Lake while boating and water skiing with the Russell family.

Monday August 29, 2011 11:52 am PST

Dawn the hospice nurse was here to check him. His pulse ox is 93 which I find amazing considering he is almost gasping to breathe. She suggested we give him morphine every 4-6 hours to help make his breathing more relaxed. We changed him and pulled him up in bed, and repositioned him on his side. We had no idea we needed to rotate him every 4 hours. We will start doing this now. He is on his side and resting more comfortable. The morphine has really helped.

When we moved him, Doug was standing at the head of the bed and he put his hands under my Dad's arm pits and in one gentle movement pulled him up. This caused my Dad to open his eyes. This was the first time I saw some type of life in him. It was wonderful to see his blue eyes again, even if it was for a few minutes.

Dawn suggested he take off his wedding ring as him hands are starting to swell a little. Mikell had suggested this yesterday, but I didn't want anyone to. It was my own fear of the finalization of everything. Mikell very graciously gave me his ring. It fits perfectly on my right hand. This is the second wedding ring Mikell has gotten him. The first had to be cut off his hand 5 years ago when he first got sick.

Monday August 29, 2011 9:42 am PST

Well, I did it. I had the most painful conversation with him of my life. I told him it was time to let go and stop suffering. It is time for him to be at peace. Peter is waiting for him, and they have a lot of catching up to do. He will guide him, help him, show him the way. I told him not to be afraid, he would not be alone, we are here for him and it will be alright.

After getting this out, I went to change postion on the bed. I let go of his hand and he raised his hand half way up. I can't tell you how excited this got me even though it was probably and involuntary response. I want to, need to believe it was his way of trying to communicate with me.

I wish I could be more comfort to him.

Monday August 29, 2011 6:13 am PST

I'm staying in his room. The only sound is the oxygen pump and his breathing. The saddest thing last night was when his cat Bianca came into him room looking for him and a place to sleep. She jumped up on the bed and walked over to where his hand was laying and just looked at it and meowed. She kept pacing te bed, looking at him and meowing. As is to say, "why aren't you petting me?"

Bianca finally settled for me. I guess I'm the next best thing. I pet her for hours and she slept at my feet. When I moved to his chair to start up my laptop, she jumped in my lap and sat while I massaged her ears. Her "motor" started, purring that is, and she was drooling. I guess she really missed being loved.

The night was difficult. No dreams for me. Just little cat naps here and there. Talking to him, holding his hand, and stroking his beard. I would like to shave him today. I'll have to ask the hospice nurse when she comes. I don't like him looking scruffy. He has an electric shaver, it shouldn't be too difficult.

His breathing is hard to watch. He is a mouth breather, so his mouth is open and sometimes he breathes like a fish out of water. Straining for that next breath.

I've just noticed that his left foot has been moving, ever so slightly. Like when the dogs are dreaming and their legs are twitching. I always thought they were dreaming that they were running. Maybe that is what he is doing. Dreaming that he is healthy and running again.

Sunday August 28, 2011 4:30 PST

It all came too fast. The phone calls, making and remaking airline reservations. Packing making arraignments for Nene and the animals. Can't believe this all started Friday afternoon. Woke up this morning at 5am to China wanting to go outside. Since the alarm was set for 6, i figured it was best to just get up and get started.

Twelve hours later I am here. In his bedroom. He is not awake now, and his last morphine and atavan was at 3am. They say he can hear me, but I just don't know. How selfish of me to want a response from him. What am I thinking? What is he thinking? Is he dreaming? Does he really know that I am here?

I keep obsessing on our last phone call. Thursday night. "I don't think I can do this much longer" plays over and over in my head.