The worst thing about this horrible situation is the doubts that creep into my mind: what if I'm doing the wrong thing? How can I be sure? Dad's living will is very clear about what he wants... but what if I and the doctors are misinterpreting something?
This is the question that haunts my waking hours as I sit there watching Dad die; this is the question that keeps me awake through the night as I lie in bed.
There is no certainty but the grave. All else is doubt and fear.
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