Saturday, 1 February 2025
Dad taught me to be prepared, even when it's difficult.
The day my dad had a heart attack, it felt like time stopped. I didn’t think about where his important papers were or what needed to be done. All I cared about was being there for him, like a daughter should. Here’s how it all happened.
It was around 9:30 p.m. My dad, my spouse, and I were getting ready to watch a movie, something we did every Friday night since Dad had moved in with us the previous October. It was a cold and miserable February night.
While my spouse and I were upstairs looking for a DVD, Dad went downstairs to take his Spiriva, a medication to help him breathe better since he had COPD. When he came back up, he had to sit at the kitchen table to catch his breath. I thought that was strange.
Then he said something I’ll never forget: “I don’t feel so great. I think I’ll skip the movie tonight and head to bed. See you in the morning.” He looked so tired.
Something in me knew that if I just said, “Okay, see you in the morning,” I might never see him alive again. I told him he looked really pale and suggested he go to the hospital. He didn’t want to, but I gave him a choice: either he got in the truck, or I called an ambulance. He chose the truck, and I drove him five minutes to the Greater Niagara General Hospital.
At around 3:30 a.m., after hours of waiting, a doctor came into the room where my spouse and I sat with Dad. The doctor said, “Mr. Layton, you’ve had a heart attack—probably two. Thank goodness you came in when you did. You wouldn’t have made it through the night.”
We were shocked. The doctor told us Dad needed a triple bypass surgery in Hamilton on Friday. It was early Wednesday morning. Our lives changed instantly. Dad ended up having a quadruple bypass instead. A month later, he had a second surgery to get an internal defibrillator.
Dad was 66 years old when he passed away three months later.
Those last three months were filled with hospital visits, doctor’s appointments, and so much learning about medications and procedures. I was his Power of Attorney (POA), so I had to keep track of everything. It was exhausting, but I wouldn’t trade that time for anything.
One of my favorite memories during that time was visiting Dad in the hospital every day. I’d bring two containers of melon: cantaloupe for him and honeydew for me. He didn’t like honeydew, and I didn’t like cantaloupe, so it worked out perfectly. We’d sit together, eat our melon, and talk about anything and everything. In those moments, it didn’t feel like he was sick. We didn’t care about the hospital around us. We just talked—father and daughter.
I could be there for him like that because he had prepared everything ahead of time. When he moved in with us, he told me he wanted me to be his POA and executor. I said yes without hesitation. He shared all his plans with me—his passwords, where his important papers were, his banking information, and the names of his lawyer and financial advisor. We even had a meeting with them so everyone was on the same page.
Because of this, I didn’t have to worry about figuring out his affairs while his health was declining. He made it easy for me to focus on what truly mattered—being his daughter.
We didn’t expect this to happen. Dad had just retired after years as a heavy-duty mechanic. We were planning for a future that should have been 10 or 20 years away. But life had other plans.
The last eight months of my dad’s life were filled with memories I’ll treasure forever. I’m so grateful he took the time to get everything in order. It let me spend those moments with him, just being his daughter.
