Departure (From My Dad)
The following entry is something that I have avoided posting and I am finally ready for it to be displayed in full view. This entry is not perfect, but it's my raw emotions and thoughts that matter.
An entry on January 17, 2006 - for January 2, 2006
This is not depression, nor is it a cry for something somebody should give you, or me asking for anything. Not a cry for attention or a plea for help. This is reality. An actual tangible thing, that makes you feel like you're on a leash and how life can be cut so short, at any time, whether you're ready for it or not. About decisions you've made in the past & present and what they really meant in the latter. After all it's been said and done. Being comfortable with choices you didn't think mattered but did. Moments you can't get back for one reason or another. Regrets or not.
I haven't gotten over it and probably won't be for awhile.
This is the day that my father died.
January 2, 2006 - 12:20 pm
I was at work when my sister called me to let me know that daddy was taking his last breath. Everything right then stopped. I put the phone on the desk and just moaned. I couldn't do anything. My heart felt low and the pain, man, what a pain it was. I had to finish payroll and put the money up for deposit that day. I walked around the office in a daze and didn't know what the hell I was doing. I was out of it for a moment. I told my supervisor and my co-worker Luisa that my father just passed. Luisa had lost her mother not too long ago, and she held me so tight. She knew what I was about to experience. I could see her tears were mine too. I just hadn't got to that point yet. I clocked out after 5 minutes in a daze. My eyes were already red. I jumped in the car and paused to at least gather what I had and I was on my way to my father's house. I was trying to get there so fast that it caused the car to stall on I35 South. The car wouldn't move for anything. It just kept stalling, over and over and over again. In seconds, I felt the terror of not being able to do anything - being helpless for real. I understood where my father was coming from.
On December 28, 2005, my sister, mother & I had to go to the hospital and meet with the doctors to discuss what options were available for my father. My father had been in and out of the Baylor Emergency Room for almost three months with a stomach ulcer which almost made him bleed to death due to a diseased liver that was in such bad shape that he turned yellow. The doctors told us the best way they could help but it was not what we wanted to hear. A lot had changed in 72 hours. We were in the hospital on Christmas Eve and Christmas. My father had went into a coma - his liver was not filtering out the toxins in his body so the ammonia levels became so high that he went into shock and couldn't wake up. Those two days were a mess. I didn't know what to do or say for that matter. Every time I touched his hand, he felt so cold. He was breathing but that wasn't enough for anyone at that time. I felt so detached from everything. The joy we take for granted everyday knowing that something better can happen didn't seem to be present. Lost and out of touch for me and my family. My mind wandered from life to death constantly. The "what if's" took a hold and they were everything and were plenty.
The doctors told us that my father had maybe a month left to live. He was at the end of the road and there wasn't much they could do for him. My mother became so enraged she left out of the family room cursing and was about to raise hell. My sister and I just sat there. She started to cry. I just sat there. My emotions swelled up and it felt like my breath deserved to be with a body that needed it more than I. I wanted to breathe life back into a man that gave me that same option on June 17, 1977 with a wonderful and loving mother. If I had hands that could cure the sick......I had to let what I wanted go, and deal with what was hear and now. Dreams were out the window and desires doused with a cold to freeze everyone and everything. The doctors had to change his status from resuscitate to do not resuscitate. They explained to us that his liver in such a bad state that if he were to stop breathing, just to revive him via pumping on his chest or his abdomen would cause him to bleed internally. My father's liver was not making the proteins to allow him to clot if he were bleeding. In lament's terms, he would be brought back to life and then killed by trying to be saved from death. He could die, two or three times. Doing so would be inhumane - to bring back the suffering to suffer over again. Hearing that hit home in a way that most do not want to see. Shocked and saddened all at once. By this point, I was slowly going out of my mind in a quiet manner. No one knew, and at that time I think I hid it with my composure & rational behavior just to be able to understand what was going on.
Once the meeting was over with doctors, two social workers and a hospice rep came in to discuss more with us about his care and the possibilities of him going home. My father coming home meant that he would need nurses care more than 24 hours a day. Have you ever heard that before? Around the clock, all the time. I couldn't believe that anyone could be in that bad of shape. My sister and I were going to fulfill my father's wish. We knew he wanted to leave the hospital and come home and die there. We got the necessary paper work for the arrangements for my father to come home and would make the final decision on what date to get him home. Time was not on our side. Just within 24 hours, my father and my mother had already signed the papers for him to be released and he was coming home on December 30th. My sister nor myself didn't know this until the hospice rep called to verify a good time to send him home. My sister called me at work on the 30th stating that the hospice rep just called her to make sure that we had the room cleared for his hospital bed and necessary equipment. We had been trying to get as much done as possible within 48 hours. I was trying to work as many hours as possible to make sure that if I needed to use vacation hours that I could take more than two weeks. My sister was trying to juggle the dayshift at home trying to make repairs, make sure my niece was getting to daycare, make sure she got a little sleep and then went to work nights as much as she could. Between trying to get stuff shifted around to make things more accommodating for my father's arrival, he was back at home around 2:00 pm on December 30th. My uncles came up and repaired the porch that would handle the weight of the hospital bed and other equipment. When I got off I headed right over to see my father. He seemed to be in good spirits and was glad to be home but you could see the pain in his yellowing eyes. His abdomen had to be drained of excess fluid before they let him go home that morning so he was not in much discomfort from his liver as he had been.
My mother, hell, my mommy - I love her so much. I will always be a "momma's boy". My mother went on a leave of absence from work for a month without pay to take care of him when the hospice nurse wasn't there. She was the caregiver - my mother, the ex-wife, now the caregiver. Life is so strange on how we end up, where we end up and reasons why. My mother had been divorced exactly 14 years and their anniversary would be on February 6th. Not to make this a complicated issue as far as why they divorced, it doesn't matter anymore. They ended up back together again. Not because they wanted to initially rekindle a love lost in the midst of confusion, but just because their paths crossed again. My mother had remarried previously to a jerk and he was abusive for 10 years. My mother divorced him and moved back in with my father to get back on her feet. My father welcomed her back with open arms. My father never stopped loving my mother. No matter what, he said that mommy was his true love and he wouldn't stop loving her. And he never went back on that promise. My mother - the identity of a woman who's action of being able to nurse and nurture made my father's last days the best anyone could have. To be human and humane, forgive and to be forgiven, to let go and love and do the right thing. The lesson that the entire world needs to be taught over and over again. My mommy did it. My father did it. Before my father got out of the hospital, my father had asked my mommy to marry him and she said yes. My mommy said that he cried a little and she did to. The thought. Again for the very first time. Happiness delivered in a well with plenty to quench the thirst of the masses. Something that I want to experience and be drenched in before I leave this world with someone besides myself.
That night he slept pretty well and on the morning of New Year's Eve daddy was experiencing some terrible pain and need some pain more medication. My father was already on morphine and codeine too. The way the morphine was prescribed, my mother had to call the hospice nurse assigned to my father for authorization. Once that was ok'd, she gave him some more and he was knocked out and slept most of the day. I was trying my best to deal with the day as well. I was to come back to my father's house that evening but didn't. I was trying to escape the pain I feeling then. It was starting to surface in ways that I hadn't experience before. I was there that morning looking through myfather's closet to see what I could where that night. I picked out two of his shirts from 1971. They were authentic and made me proud that I could at least have a part of daddy with me when I wasn't there by his side. I actually looked good in it (the picture should be on my blog w/my friends). They said I looked just like my dad - a compliment that was nice to hear and bittersweet at the same time. When I was fully dressed that afternoon, I just stared at myself in the mirror. I saw no one else but the man that lay in bed at home trying to live for us and not himself. A man in pain because he wanted to be here for us, regardless of what he would have to endure.
That evening we celebrated a new friend's birthday, Javier, at Pappadeaux's whom I'm finding is more than just someone with that title - a "good judy" as the "circle" would call him. It was a definitely a grand affair and everyone seemed to be having fun and everyone was happy. After the restaurant, we went back to his casa and brought in January 1, 2006 with him and our friends. That morning after leaving home, I went over my father's house and spent most of the day with my family. Trying to enjoy each other and be glad that daddy had made it to 2006. It seemed like October, November and most of December 2005 never even existed. I was just glad that we had gotten this far. I stood steadfast in my mind that daddy would have more that just one month to live. I just knew it, we had to have more time.
January 2, 2006, around 5:00 am
My sister and mother heard my father calling to be helped sat up in the bed and he decided he wanted to go to the living room and watch television. He said he felt so much better and he was so full energy. They put on his shirt and started to help him out off the bed and then he asked all of a sudden to be sat back down. He said that he started to feel sharp pains and wanted just to lay back down for a while. As far as we know, daddy went back to sleep. Everything o.k. My sister went back in the room to check on him periodically. Smooth sailing.
January 2, 2006 - 11:55am
My sister went to check in on my father again and he was barely breathing. My sister - why did it have to be my sister to be the one to have to see him like this. My sister found my father with is eyes open and mouth open and he did not respond to her shaking him. My sister called for my mother and she did the same thing - no response. My sister called the hospice nurse and she was told the words no one should hear over the phone. It is very possible that since he is not responding and that his mouth and eyes are open like that & no response to touch or sound, he is taking his last breaths and he is about to pass.
January 2, 2006 - 1:30pm
I finally make it over my father's house - I sat in that car for almost 45 minutes to get it cranked just to get to my father as quickly as possible. When I arrive, my sister is outside with my niece and her best friend from work. I just pull up beside them and I get out the car. My sister told me not to go in the house. I just have to see daddy - no matter what. As I walk closer to the house I see the hospice nurse's & physician's car right in front of the steps to the house. I walk in and I see the nurse on the phone verifying some kind of information and the physician is sitting right beside her. I walk through the kitchen and into the room that daddy is in. I see my mother holding my father's hand and she says he didn't respond and he stopped breathing around 12:36pm - the same time that I clocked out from work. He was lying there on the bed, lifeless, mouth open and eyes dilated. No movement. No sounds. I reached out for to touch his hand. It was so cold. One of the two hands that raised two kids, had a wonderful marriage and loved like no one else in this world. I just stand there in silence with a tear in each eye, just waiting for them fall. When they fell, I knew this wasn't going to be easy and that I was going to have to be about it and not talk about it. Make it do what it do - no more half-ass, no more of forgetting, no more words to replace actions that were not done for one reason or another. In your face - today - right now. Just do it.
January 2, 2006 - 7:45am
I was almost to work and I started singing "When Sunday Comes" - a song I have loved and enjoy hearing and definitely love singing. I felt this somber and heavy feeling come over me. I can't explain this - I started to cry. Then it stopped. I though I was going crazy. The feeling left me after 15 minutes and by this point I had pulled up in the parking lot at work. It was, of course, payroll Monday and I had a lot to do - money, then money again. My dual position will keep you on your toes and I love it - no matter how much I have to do. I love the challenge. I got a cup of java and started printing reports and put the money out like any other morning when I get here.
January 2, 2006 - 1:36pm
I walk out of the room where mother was still holding and rubbing his hand for comfort. I pass through the living room and the nurse and doctor said they were sorry for my loss and I told them it's o.k. and that it's something that we the living have to go through. A part of this life we live - the days we count to our birthdays & anniversaries. The time we wish we had, the time where we wish we had more of to do whatever it is we were trying to do. Life then death, whether we acknowledge it or not. I am outside now and my sister's best friend asks me if I am ok, I say no, but it's not about me. It's about daddy not being in pain and not suffering anymore. I just walk over to my sister and hug her like my limbs are not there, she says the same thing that I just said and it didn't register. I understood what I said, but didn't grasp her words - the same as mine. The computation, the action involved with that at hand was rough and unpolished. Not because I've not heard it before, but because it was meant for myself, my sister, my niece, my mother's side of the family, my father's side of the family, the very good friends of the family - life's relay baton was now handed to someone else and we just had to watch from the bleachers. The good race was over for another runner.
I walked up the driveway and called everyone that I was close and important to me that my father passed. After the phone calls and everyone trying to come and be here for family & I. It's not about me right now - my father's life ended in a way that it shouldn't have. But it did.
I'm still walking and by this time I am wandering through woods. I know, the woods? My father's property is within the city but it's like no other. You have seclusion within a big city but still accessible. My father found the property for that same reason. That was one of several things my father was good at. It made him proud to have a home here and be able to live how he wanted to live and not be bothered too much by the busy city. My father was a country boy. Born in Paris, Texas, for those familiar with Texas, that's in Lamar county. A bunch of cows, red dirt and Oklahoma just around the corner. It was simple and that's what he wanted to for us too. I continued through the trees and bushes and I see more relatives coming down the driveway and I start thinking about when the funeral home is going to show up to pick up the body. I just become lethargic and stressed out. I felt like the direction I was in before was now lost and meaningless. I kept looking up at this clear sky looking for it. I kept looking upward till my neck ached with a horrible pain. I didn't care about my pain. I wanted to know that daddy knew I love him. I cared for him. I appreciated all that he had done for me. The talks at leisure. The trips out of nowhere. The moments when daddy would piss you off and you couldn't do anything but laugh about it later. I wanted to hear him whisper the words, I'm o.k. I needed to know damn it. My heart sank as low as it has ever before. My depression started right then and there. I started to touch the trees and ask why. I felt the breeze blow on my face and I waited to hear anything, see anything - a sign of some sort to ease my hurt just a tad bit.
January 2, 2006 - 3:20pm
I wander back into the house and by this point there are a lot of people here at the house. My relatives are here and consoling my mother and my sister. I go to my father's room and found the Ezra Brooks Reserve bottle that has enough left in it to make a difference right now. No one was in the room with my father and I needed this moment to make some kind of peace within myself and with my dad in the hopes that the Lord can let me speak to my father when my heart can be open and as pure as it can. I've already prepared myself a strong drink, and I kneel down beside dad's body and I put my hand on his. I immediately start crying and the words just slowly melt from my mouth. I'm making more sense at this very point that I have when I found out that daddy had passed away.
I said I'm sorry so many times - I apologized for being ignorant and stubborn at times whereas I was told to beware and to know better. I apologized for not being there all the time when I knew that my attitude kept me from him and my family. I apologized and understood that we were different and that we were the same, and that's why we bumped heads ever so often. I apologized for unnecessary grief that I brought into his life. I told him I was so proud to have been raised by such a wonderful, loving and forgiving man. I told him despite my misfortunes and yes, my fuck-ups, he let me come home when I needed to re-evaluate the situation and make a better judgment and move forward. He let me make a lot of mistakes and understood why. He didn't curse me for my faults. He loved me because I was his son. A life created in the moment of love and in the hopes of that I would be able be able to be loved as much and to give love as much as he had. He wanted me to have the ability to let things go when they really aren't important. Being able to differentiate bullshit from just another silly mistake. To realize that I am human, and to be human - never lose compassion for the next man. Not to let others' lives make your life one that you're never proud of and to make you bitter about it. Say things when you need to say them when you know it's right for you and the other and not just for yourself. Be aware that hate itself can be turned around if you believe it can. Understand that time is not your friend and that you need to do what you need to do when you're supposed to. There are no guarantees in life but death. People are like seeds, be careful of what you sow. And most of all, love is a flower of the rarest kind - you have to maintain it at all times, for neglect and lack of necessary care will surely lead to loss. I took another sip after those words and I toasted to my dad - You taught us as well as you could and you've done a helluva job. We were never without your warmth and love. We will love you and miss you and to know that when it's over we will be family once again. Amen.
I can feel the alcohol starting to work but it minimal. All my emotions are tittering on the brink of spillage. The funeral home is here to pick up the body. My sister and I had to scramble and find his papers as far as burial and such. After they wrap his body up they head through the house with this body on a stretcher and my mother is on the sofa screaming and pleading that my father not to leave her. The agony in those words made my skin crawl. I couldn't even fathom what my mother or sister what they were feeling on the inside. I know we all we hurt and didn't want him to die, not now, not anytime soon, and definitely not at all. Once the funeral home leaves with his body I feel like I'm not even alive. It is such a surreal feeling to have someone to die at home. I keep walking around the empty bed where he was, and I just touch the rail. I can't even turn off the light next to the bed. The oxygen machine is still running. All I can here is the breathing/hissing noise that life makes. I just walk back and forth from his room to outside. Over and over again.
I will have to continue this another day - It was very hard for me to write this and not lose my mind with grief. Theses words have me choked up and I am not too functional right now. But I will have to continue this - my grief has to start and then end. My life & the healing process has to start again. I know for sure that there is a blessing somewhere in these words, I am hopeful that this can at least help one person cope or deal with the loss of a loved one. Just have faith and believe that this is only a trial and that things will get better.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006 @ 2:26am (CST)
An entry on January 17, 2006 - for January 2, 2006
This is not depression, nor is it a cry for something somebody should give you, or me asking for anything. Not a cry for attention or a plea for help. This is reality. An actual tangible thing, that makes you feel like you're on a leash and how life can be cut so short, at any time, whether you're ready for it or not. About decisions you've made in the past & present and what they really meant in the latter. After all it's been said and done. Being comfortable with choices you didn't think mattered but did. Moments you can't get back for one reason or another. Regrets or not.
I haven't gotten over it and probably won't be for awhile.
This is the day that my father died.
January 2, 2006 - 12:20 pm
I was at work when my sister called me to let me know that daddy was taking his last breath. Everything right then stopped. I put the phone on the desk and just moaned. I couldn't do anything. My heart felt low and the pain, man, what a pain it was. I had to finish payroll and put the money up for deposit that day. I walked around the office in a daze and didn't know what the hell I was doing. I was out of it for a moment. I told my supervisor and my co-worker Luisa that my father just passed. Luisa had lost her mother not too long ago, and she held me so tight. She knew what I was about to experience. I could see her tears were mine too. I just hadn't got to that point yet. I clocked out after 5 minutes in a daze. My eyes were already red. I jumped in the car and paused to at least gather what I had and I was on my way to my father's house. I was trying to get there so fast that it caused the car to stall on I35 South. The car wouldn't move for anything. It just kept stalling, over and over and over again. In seconds, I felt the terror of not being able to do anything - being helpless for real. I understood where my father was coming from.
On December 28, 2005, my sister, mother & I had to go to the hospital and meet with the doctors to discuss what options were available for my father. My father had been in and out of the Baylor Emergency Room for almost three months with a stomach ulcer which almost made him bleed to death due to a diseased liver that was in such bad shape that he turned yellow. The doctors told us the best way they could help but it was not what we wanted to hear. A lot had changed in 72 hours. We were in the hospital on Christmas Eve and Christmas. My father had went into a coma - his liver was not filtering out the toxins in his body so the ammonia levels became so high that he went into shock and couldn't wake up. Those two days were a mess. I didn't know what to do or say for that matter. Every time I touched his hand, he felt so cold. He was breathing but that wasn't enough for anyone at that time. I felt so detached from everything. The joy we take for granted everyday knowing that something better can happen didn't seem to be present. Lost and out of touch for me and my family. My mind wandered from life to death constantly. The "what if's" took a hold and they were everything and were plenty.
The doctors told us that my father had maybe a month left to live. He was at the end of the road and there wasn't much they could do for him. My mother became so enraged she left out of the family room cursing and was about to raise hell. My sister and I just sat there. She started to cry. I just sat there. My emotions swelled up and it felt like my breath deserved to be with a body that needed it more than I. I wanted to breathe life back into a man that gave me that same option on June 17, 1977 with a wonderful and loving mother. If I had hands that could cure the sick......I had to let what I wanted go, and deal with what was hear and now. Dreams were out the window and desires doused with a cold to freeze everyone and everything. The doctors had to change his status from resuscitate to do not resuscitate. They explained to us that his liver in such a bad state that if he were to stop breathing, just to revive him via pumping on his chest or his abdomen would cause him to bleed internally. My father's liver was not making the proteins to allow him to clot if he were bleeding. In lament's terms, he would be brought back to life and then killed by trying to be saved from death. He could die, two or three times. Doing so would be inhumane - to bring back the suffering to suffer over again. Hearing that hit home in a way that most do not want to see. Shocked and saddened all at once. By this point, I was slowly going out of my mind in a quiet manner. No one knew, and at that time I think I hid it with my composure & rational behavior just to be able to understand what was going on.
Once the meeting was over with doctors, two social workers and a hospice rep came in to discuss more with us about his care and the possibilities of him going home. My father coming home meant that he would need nurses care more than 24 hours a day. Have you ever heard that before? Around the clock, all the time. I couldn't believe that anyone could be in that bad of shape. My sister and I were going to fulfill my father's wish. We knew he wanted to leave the hospital and come home and die there. We got the necessary paper work for the arrangements for my father to come home and would make the final decision on what date to get him home. Time was not on our side. Just within 24 hours, my father and my mother had already signed the papers for him to be released and he was coming home on December 30th. My sister nor myself didn't know this until the hospice rep called to verify a good time to send him home. My sister called me at work on the 30th stating that the hospice rep just called her to make sure that we had the room cleared for his hospital bed and necessary equipment. We had been trying to get as much done as possible within 48 hours. I was trying to work as many hours as possible to make sure that if I needed to use vacation hours that I could take more than two weeks. My sister was trying to juggle the dayshift at home trying to make repairs, make sure my niece was getting to daycare, make sure she got a little sleep and then went to work nights as much as she could. Between trying to get stuff shifted around to make things more accommodating for my father's arrival, he was back at home around 2:00 pm on December 30th. My uncles came up and repaired the porch that would handle the weight of the hospital bed and other equipment. When I got off I headed right over to see my father. He seemed to be in good spirits and was glad to be home but you could see the pain in his yellowing eyes. His abdomen had to be drained of excess fluid before they let him go home that morning so he was not in much discomfort from his liver as he had been.
My mother, hell, my mommy - I love her so much. I will always be a "momma's boy". My mother went on a leave of absence from work for a month without pay to take care of him when the hospice nurse wasn't there. She was the caregiver - my mother, the ex-wife, now the caregiver. Life is so strange on how we end up, where we end up and reasons why. My mother had been divorced exactly 14 years and their anniversary would be on February 6th. Not to make this a complicated issue as far as why they divorced, it doesn't matter anymore. They ended up back together again. Not because they wanted to initially rekindle a love lost in the midst of confusion, but just because their paths crossed again. My mother had remarried previously to a jerk and he was abusive for 10 years. My mother divorced him and moved back in with my father to get back on her feet. My father welcomed her back with open arms. My father never stopped loving my mother. No matter what, he said that mommy was his true love and he wouldn't stop loving her. And he never went back on that promise. My mother - the identity of a woman who's action of being able to nurse and nurture made my father's last days the best anyone could have. To be human and humane, forgive and to be forgiven, to let go and love and do the right thing. The lesson that the entire world needs to be taught over and over again. My mommy did it. My father did it. Before my father got out of the hospital, my father had asked my mommy to marry him and she said yes. My mommy said that he cried a little and she did to. The thought. Again for the very first time. Happiness delivered in a well with plenty to quench the thirst of the masses. Something that I want to experience and be drenched in before I leave this world with someone besides myself.
That night he slept pretty well and on the morning of New Year's Eve daddy was experiencing some terrible pain and need some pain more medication. My father was already on morphine and codeine too. The way the morphine was prescribed, my mother had to call the hospice nurse assigned to my father for authorization. Once that was ok'd, she gave him some more and he was knocked out and slept most of the day. I was trying my best to deal with the day as well. I was to come back to my father's house that evening but didn't. I was trying to escape the pain I feeling then. It was starting to surface in ways that I hadn't experience before. I was there that morning looking through myfather's closet to see what I could where that night. I picked out two of his shirts from 1971. They were authentic and made me proud that I could at least have a part of daddy with me when I wasn't there by his side. I actually looked good in it (the picture should be on my blog w/my friends). They said I looked just like my dad - a compliment that was nice to hear and bittersweet at the same time. When I was fully dressed that afternoon, I just stared at myself in the mirror. I saw no one else but the man that lay in bed at home trying to live for us and not himself. A man in pain because he wanted to be here for us, regardless of what he would have to endure.
That evening we celebrated a new friend's birthday, Javier, at Pappadeaux's whom I'm finding is more than just someone with that title - a "good judy" as the "circle" would call him. It was a definitely a grand affair and everyone seemed to be having fun and everyone was happy. After the restaurant, we went back to his casa and brought in January 1, 2006 with him and our friends. That morning after leaving home, I went over my father's house and spent most of the day with my family. Trying to enjoy each other and be glad that daddy had made it to 2006. It seemed like October, November and most of December 2005 never even existed. I was just glad that we had gotten this far. I stood steadfast in my mind that daddy would have more that just one month to live. I just knew it, we had to have more time.
January 2, 2006, around 5:00 am
My sister and mother heard my father calling to be helped sat up in the bed and he decided he wanted to go to the living room and watch television. He said he felt so much better and he was so full energy. They put on his shirt and started to help him out off the bed and then he asked all of a sudden to be sat back down. He said that he started to feel sharp pains and wanted just to lay back down for a while. As far as we know, daddy went back to sleep. Everything o.k. My sister went back in the room to check on him periodically. Smooth sailing.
January 2, 2006 - 11:55am
My sister went to check in on my father again and he was barely breathing. My sister - why did it have to be my sister to be the one to have to see him like this. My sister found my father with is eyes open and mouth open and he did not respond to her shaking him. My sister called for my mother and she did the same thing - no response. My sister called the hospice nurse and she was told the words no one should hear over the phone. It is very possible that since he is not responding and that his mouth and eyes are open like that & no response to touch or sound, he is taking his last breaths and he is about to pass.
January 2, 2006 - 1:30pm
I finally make it over my father's house - I sat in that car for almost 45 minutes to get it cranked just to get to my father as quickly as possible. When I arrive, my sister is outside with my niece and her best friend from work. I just pull up beside them and I get out the car. My sister told me not to go in the house. I just have to see daddy - no matter what. As I walk closer to the house I see the hospice nurse's & physician's car right in front of the steps to the house. I walk in and I see the nurse on the phone verifying some kind of information and the physician is sitting right beside her. I walk through the kitchen and into the room that daddy is in. I see my mother holding my father's hand and she says he didn't respond and he stopped breathing around 12:36pm - the same time that I clocked out from work. He was lying there on the bed, lifeless, mouth open and eyes dilated. No movement. No sounds. I reached out for to touch his hand. It was so cold. One of the two hands that raised two kids, had a wonderful marriage and loved like no one else in this world. I just stand there in silence with a tear in each eye, just waiting for them fall. When they fell, I knew this wasn't going to be easy and that I was going to have to be about it and not talk about it. Make it do what it do - no more half-ass, no more of forgetting, no more words to replace actions that were not done for one reason or another. In your face - today - right now. Just do it.
January 2, 2006 - 7:45am
I was almost to work and I started singing "When Sunday Comes" - a song I have loved and enjoy hearing and definitely love singing. I felt this somber and heavy feeling come over me. I can't explain this - I started to cry. Then it stopped. I though I was going crazy. The feeling left me after 15 minutes and by this point I had pulled up in the parking lot at work. It was, of course, payroll Monday and I had a lot to do - money, then money again. My dual position will keep you on your toes and I love it - no matter how much I have to do. I love the challenge. I got a cup of java and started printing reports and put the money out like any other morning when I get here.
January 2, 2006 - 1:36pm
I walk out of the room where mother was still holding and rubbing his hand for comfort. I pass through the living room and the nurse and doctor said they were sorry for my loss and I told them it's o.k. and that it's something that we the living have to go through. A part of this life we live - the days we count to our birthdays & anniversaries. The time we wish we had, the time where we wish we had more of to do whatever it is we were trying to do. Life then death, whether we acknowledge it or not. I am outside now and my sister's best friend asks me if I am ok, I say no, but it's not about me. It's about daddy not being in pain and not suffering anymore. I just walk over to my sister and hug her like my limbs are not there, she says the same thing that I just said and it didn't register. I understood what I said, but didn't grasp her words - the same as mine. The computation, the action involved with that at hand was rough and unpolished. Not because I've not heard it before, but because it was meant for myself, my sister, my niece, my mother's side of the family, my father's side of the family, the very good friends of the family - life's relay baton was now handed to someone else and we just had to watch from the bleachers. The good race was over for another runner.
I walked up the driveway and called everyone that I was close and important to me that my father passed. After the phone calls and everyone trying to come and be here for family & I. It's not about me right now - my father's life ended in a way that it shouldn't have. But it did.
I'm still walking and by this time I am wandering through woods. I know, the woods? My father's property is within the city but it's like no other. You have seclusion within a big city but still accessible. My father found the property for that same reason. That was one of several things my father was good at. It made him proud to have a home here and be able to live how he wanted to live and not be bothered too much by the busy city. My father was a country boy. Born in Paris, Texas, for those familiar with Texas, that's in Lamar county. A bunch of cows, red dirt and Oklahoma just around the corner. It was simple and that's what he wanted to for us too. I continued through the trees and bushes and I see more relatives coming down the driveway and I start thinking about when the funeral home is going to show up to pick up the body. I just become lethargic and stressed out. I felt like the direction I was in before was now lost and meaningless. I kept looking up at this clear sky looking for it. I kept looking upward till my neck ached with a horrible pain. I didn't care about my pain. I wanted to know that daddy knew I love him. I cared for him. I appreciated all that he had done for me. The talks at leisure. The trips out of nowhere. The moments when daddy would piss you off and you couldn't do anything but laugh about it later. I wanted to hear him whisper the words, I'm o.k. I needed to know damn it. My heart sank as low as it has ever before. My depression started right then and there. I started to touch the trees and ask why. I felt the breeze blow on my face and I waited to hear anything, see anything - a sign of some sort to ease my hurt just a tad bit.
January 2, 2006 - 3:20pm
I wander back into the house and by this point there are a lot of people here at the house. My relatives are here and consoling my mother and my sister. I go to my father's room and found the Ezra Brooks Reserve bottle that has enough left in it to make a difference right now. No one was in the room with my father and I needed this moment to make some kind of peace within myself and with my dad in the hopes that the Lord can let me speak to my father when my heart can be open and as pure as it can. I've already prepared myself a strong drink, and I kneel down beside dad's body and I put my hand on his. I immediately start crying and the words just slowly melt from my mouth. I'm making more sense at this very point that I have when I found out that daddy had passed away.
I said I'm sorry so many times - I apologized for being ignorant and stubborn at times whereas I was told to beware and to know better. I apologized for not being there all the time when I knew that my attitude kept me from him and my family. I apologized and understood that we were different and that we were the same, and that's why we bumped heads ever so often. I apologized for unnecessary grief that I brought into his life. I told him I was so proud to have been raised by such a wonderful, loving and forgiving man. I told him despite my misfortunes and yes, my fuck-ups, he let me come home when I needed to re-evaluate the situation and make a better judgment and move forward. He let me make a lot of mistakes and understood why. He didn't curse me for my faults. He loved me because I was his son. A life created in the moment of love and in the hopes of that I would be able be able to be loved as much and to give love as much as he had. He wanted me to have the ability to let things go when they really aren't important. Being able to differentiate bullshit from just another silly mistake. To realize that I am human, and to be human - never lose compassion for the next man. Not to let others' lives make your life one that you're never proud of and to make you bitter about it. Say things when you need to say them when you know it's right for you and the other and not just for yourself. Be aware that hate itself can be turned around if you believe it can. Understand that time is not your friend and that you need to do what you need to do when you're supposed to. There are no guarantees in life but death. People are like seeds, be careful of what you sow. And most of all, love is a flower of the rarest kind - you have to maintain it at all times, for neglect and lack of necessary care will surely lead to loss. I took another sip after those words and I toasted to my dad - You taught us as well as you could and you've done a helluva job. We were never without your warmth and love. We will love you and miss you and to know that when it's over we will be family once again. Amen.
I can feel the alcohol starting to work but it minimal. All my emotions are tittering on the brink of spillage. The funeral home is here to pick up the body. My sister and I had to scramble and find his papers as far as burial and such. After they wrap his body up they head through the house with this body on a stretcher and my mother is on the sofa screaming and pleading that my father not to leave her. The agony in those words made my skin crawl. I couldn't even fathom what my mother or sister what they were feeling on the inside. I know we all we hurt and didn't want him to die, not now, not anytime soon, and definitely not at all. Once the funeral home leaves with his body I feel like I'm not even alive. It is such a surreal feeling to have someone to die at home. I keep walking around the empty bed where he was, and I just touch the rail. I can't even turn off the light next to the bed. The oxygen machine is still running. All I can here is the breathing/hissing noise that life makes. I just walk back and forth from his room to outside. Over and over again.
I will have to continue this another day - It was very hard for me to write this and not lose my mind with grief. Theses words have me choked up and I am not too functional right now. But I will have to continue this - my grief has to start and then end. My life & the healing process has to start again. I know for sure that there is a blessing somewhere in these words, I am hopeful that this can at least help one person cope or deal with the loss of a loved one. Just have faith and believe that this is only a trial and that things will get better.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006 @ 2:26am (CST)
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