The thing is, we were not always close. I spent most of my childhood trying to prove myself to him, trying to make him love me. I had no clue he already did love me, he just didn't know how to show it. Without delving into my own childhood trauma, and bringing up even more pain, I will just say this. As an adult, my dad and I formed a bond I never expected. He became my best friend, my confidant, the dad I always wanted.
My dad drove a semi for a living. He would spend the day driving up north to make deliveries and once a week (sometimes more) he would call and we would talk while he drove. Our conversations were about everything, life, relationships, money, sometimes even things a girl would never talk to her dad about. The calls would sometimes last 3 hours, just talking about everything. He would hit a dead zone up north and that would usually end our calls. He usually knew when it was coming, and we would say our goodbyes before he hit it. I remember one day in particular we were deep in conversation and he didn't realize he was about to hit the dead zone. 15 minutes later when he was back in range of a cell tower, he called me back. He wanted to say goodbye and he loved me. That was it.
This past year my dad was pretty sick. In fact he was way sicker than he let on. He was getting moody, and I didn't understand a lot of things. We started to drift apart. We also had a lot of past issues boiling up, due to people and circumstances. I didn't have a clue how sick he really was, or maybe I was just in denial about it. You see, when my mom died she had a lot of health issues, and a pretty severe addiction. I saw her death coming. In fact, its all she talked about for a long time. I felt prepared for her death and in some ways relieved. I didn't have to worry about her anymore. My mom was my everything, for a long long time. I took her death pretty bad, I still mourn her. But this, this is totally different, this is way way harder.
I knew my dad was in the hospital, I knew he was being sedated so he could be on a ventilator. I just somehow believed he would be ok. I was sitting on the porch, when my stepmother called me and said I need to come home, dads not doing good . I broke down crying, called my husband and told him to come home, and went into a frenzy trying to pack.
Its a 9 hour drive back to Michigan. I cried a good part of the way there. Sometime during the drive, I got a call saying they weren't sure he would make it through the night, and to go straight to the hospital when we got into town. 2 am. My husband dropped me at the doors of the hospital and went to check himself and my kids into our hotel.
I hate hospitals, I hate doctors. I get severe anxiety going into hospitals. But I knew I had to suck it up and do this.
It was dark, my dad lay in his bed, not looking himself at all. He was swollen, and hairy, and his color was off. He was hooked up to many many machines, monitors, and medications. I held his hand. It was cold, and swollen beyond recognition. I sat and talked to him. I confessed my love for him, and started talking about memories I had. I started to talk to him, about when I was a little girl and I would lay on the couch by him, and how I would hold my pee for a long long time, because I was afraid If I got up, he would move and I couldn't cuddle with him anymore. So I would lay there as long as I could, sometimes in pain from having to pee so bad, just so he would keep hanging out with me. When I started that story, he opened his eyes, and tried to sit up. Except it was his eyes. It was so scary. So i told him over and over and over again, Its ok dad, I am here. Its ok dad, lay down. Its ok dad I am here. It wasnt until I stopped talking, that he actually calmed down.
I cant let go of these images. They play in my head over and over again.
The following day, his last day on earth. I went to the hospital after only 2 hours of sleep. I knew I would be there the whole day. I had no idea, we would be talking about what steps to take next. I didn't know I would be talking with his wife about how we should end his life, and when we should end his life. Everything about this scares me. Picturing his suffering, imagining his struggling for breath. It all became very real to me. My Stepmom, My Stepsister, and I all discussed with the doctors what our next step was. And while I knew the choice was ultimately hers, she wanted my opinion. We all agreed we didn't want him to suffer, we didn't want him to struggle for breath.
In my life, I never imagined having to make these decisions. I never imagined holding someones hand, knowing they were dying. Its not something I can even put into words. The confusion, the helplessness, the worry, the utter pain of it all. The worst part is telling someone you love with all your heart, its ok to let go, its ok to leave you, its ok to die. When your heart and soul is crying and begging them not to leave you. When your soul is crying our to God, to please intervene, to please save him. At the same time, you don't want them to stay around and suffer, just because you cant bare to live without them.
We made the plans, we set the time, we planned his final moments.
Here we were, Myself, my step mom, my 2 step brothers and their wives, and my stepsister and her husband. Gathered around his bed. My husband, sister and nieces sat in the hallway. My baby sister at home, 41 weeks pregnant. We all chose our place. I sat and held his hand for a while. I broke down a time or two. My stepmother sang to him. She sang for a long time, for his peace as well as her own. She whispered to him many times, its ok to go woody. Its ok to go home. She asked him to find her Grandbaby who passed away at just 7 years old. He layed there very still, very at peace. He was still on a ventilator, but his heart was slowing. The beauty I saw, in the love all these people had for my dad. Its indescribable. I left my chair and the room for a minute, becuase it was just too much to handle. My stepsister took my place. She loved him as much as I did. I came back in the room, stood behind my stepmom, and within minutes he was gone. His heart just slowly stopped.
There was a peace in the way we sat with him. There was a peace in the way his wife sang to him. There was a peace, knowing he wasnt hurting anymore.
But there was so much pain leftover for us. I sat and held his hand, after the machines were turned off. I cried, or should I say, I sobbed. I told him "I didnt want to let him go" I told him "I am so sorry" I havent stopped crying since.
I have my moments of being ok, I have my moments of forgetting. But I fall to complete pieces every day. I have nightmares about not only him, but my mothers death. I feel completely alone in my grieving and I dont know how to get through this.
