This week has been the most tragically beautiful string of blurriness and emotions I've ever experienced. Dad's been unresponsive for the most part since Monday. A moan, a wince, a furrowed brow, sometimes a grin. That was it. So we started to make phone calls. We called family, we called friends, I texted, I left voicemails, and I was careful not to veer from the same strong script to the ones who answered:
"Hospice says 24hrs - 7 days. Come say goodbye."
So for the next two days, friends and family trickled in and out as the family movies played in the background. We wanted to make sure dad was hearing laughter and love from his favorite people every minute. There was food constantly being dropped off. There were 40 pairs of shoes at the door, voices ... so many voices. Margaret crushing pills every two hours ... did we sponge his mouth? Dishes clanking because everyone had to eat, although no one felt like it. The damn coffee pot making its 48th pot of coffee by 2pm. The hum of the washing machine and the dryer on at all times. Oh yea the air conditioning too. That was running. Hospice said we should keep it cool in the house.. better for his circulation. These people think of everything. More friendly chatter: "He was the most wonderful man," "We are so sorry you are going through this," "He always made me laugh," "Remember that time when ....." So many memories were laughed about .... tears fell down for sure. My dad was just that guy. The guy that was loved by every person he touched. He never knew a stranger and would give you the shirt off his back. Yea, that guy.
Hospice nurses came daily, sometimes more than once, vitals were taken, approximate timelines and stages were a regular topic of conversation. In these last 4 days, I've learned words like apnea, dysphagia (?), death rattle, DNR order. I learned how to bathe my dad and change his sheets without moving him from the bed. I learned that we needed to protect his skin with a rub. The sheets must be perfectly flat because any little wrinkle or edge might make him uncomfortable. His heels needed to be floated. Do you know what that means? I didn't either. His heels couldn't touch the bed because they would get sores. Did you know that hearing is the last sense to go? That means daddy heard everything .. we all told him it was ok to let go. We will all be fine. But he heard us laugh, he heard us remembering. He heard every voice that stood by his side. He knows all of his kids and his person, my mama, were there with him and we all had a part in his peaceful passing. See the tragically beautiful thing there?
I've been bringing Drew home at night to sleep in her own bed and go to school the next day .. keeping some normalcy. What is normalcy, anyway? Moving on ... So I got the call at 3:23 this morning from Amy. I said the word fuck to myself as soon as I came to and saw who was on the other end. Fuck, it's Amy. "Dad's gone." She managed to muster through tears. "Come over." I shot out of bed in a fog, went and woke Drew, threw on shorts, flip flops in 50 degrees, and drove to mom and dad's in the same fog. Where the Hell was I on my way to, again? Oh yea, my parents' ... because my dad just took his last breath. My dad just took his last breath. I saw in Drew's eyes she wasn't ready for this to happen yet. But really, were any of us? Poor Drew .. I'm her mom. I'm supposed to be her safe place. I was a blubbering mess. So you know what the kid says to me? Just this: "Mom I'm happy for papa ... because this was his choice." Huh. Drew 1 Mommy 0. Once again she leaves me speechless. Thank you for being mine, Drew.
The 4 minute drive to mom and dad's is over. I walked in the front door and up the stairs. That seemed to take forever and everything echoed. Maybe Amy was joking. Shit, maybe dad's been joking this whole time. "Get up, let's go out to eat!" Yea, no ... there he was. Lifeless. His face, still warm, obviously needed just one more kiss. I ran my fingers through his grey hair .. I remember sliding my thumbs across his eyebrows and the way they felt. Coarse. And that one freckle he had on his head ... I used to call him Gorbachev. Will I remember this? Who knows .. and then I felt every wrinkle around his eyes, every whisker I missed while shaving him. Oops. And those ear lobes ... HA! Those ear lobes. I joked with him when I was a little girl and told him if I had his ear lobes, I'd pierce them 20 times! He always just shook his head. I closed my eyes and in 30 seconds, my 36 years with my dad flashed like an old Polaroid. It was jolting. Damn I'm going to miss that guy.
Just then I realized my dad would never dance with me at my wedding.
The funeral directors came to get dad's body. My sister took Drew to her house next door, mom went to her room, and there I was. I just had to watch him go; not sure why. They gently wrapped him and carried him down the stairs. It was quiet ... so quiet that the only sound I could hear was the buzz of the light bulb. Is that really even a thing? Do light bulbs buzz? I just stared at his empty bed and cried. As the sun started coming up, the construction traffic across from mom and dad's started. The day was starting. How is life around me even going on? Doesn't everyone know my dad is gone? Things should cease. But they don't .... clocks keep ticking, the world keeps spinning. Days pass by. Curled up in a ball on the couch alone, I looked up and saw one of my closest friends walking up the stairs toward me. He didn't say a word, just scooped me up and let me cry. I remember thinking right then at that moment there was no place I'd rather be. Thank you for that because I know you're reading this.
Looking over his shoulder with tears rolling onto him and the couch, I realized that for the last week, myself and my family just helped my dad on the longest journey of his life. The most significant one to date. Together we gave him a comfortable, loving, peaceful sendoff. I know he's thankful because I am. Kudos to my family. Daddy taught us well. We are a strong little clique, aren't we?
So now what? Where do I even go from here? Believe it or not, helping take care of my dad gave me a purpose. I had no idea that's what it was, but it was. Need to know what kind of medications he's on and how much? I got it. Need to know his A1C number? I got it. Need to know why we need 2 separate appointments at the VA? Let me explain.. His blood pressure was always low, sugar always runs high, psoriasis on both knees and his left foot. Sees a podiatrist regularly. So now do I just get rid of that information engraved on my brain? Seems absurd to me.
One day at a time is my M.O. That's the only way.
To daddy, well here we are. This week has dragged on but gone way too fast. Does that make sense? As Aunt Nancy would say, journey well. I miss you like the worst kind of crazy. The emptiness I feel is consuming and at times unbearable. I won't wrap my head around this for some time, I'm sure. You left an imprint that will forever be unmatched on both myself and my daughter. I'm not going to say goodbye because that's not what it is. It is until we meet again. We will do that. I promise to help mom heal. She said last night that she feels like she will have a broken heart for the rest of her life. You both are so lucky that you had a love like you had. I won't settle until I find that. I know that she was your person and you hers. I promise to help mom heal.
To Drew, you have now experienced your first big loss. And what a loss it is. I'm so sorry baby. Papa loved you with his whole soul. He still does. When I told you last night that he is all around us, I wasn't telling a lie. He will be with us always... protecting, watching, hopefully playing a practical joke or two. We will get through this my love.
To mom, just breathe. You have the most awesome guardian angel now. You were loved in a way that some people are never lucky enough to experience. That is not much comfort now, but it will bring you peace in time. I love you and I am here.
I've decided this isn't the end of my blog. This is and always has been my outlet and I will most definitely need it in the days to come. I thank every reader of my words for sharing in the journey of my dad. It was hard, exhausting, lovely, trying, beautiful, and tested every ounce of patience, strength, and will I have.
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Rest easy, daddy .. I will miss you every minute for the rest of my life. So until we meet again ...
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