So the days are started to meld together and, as bad as it sounds, it seemed like dad never was going to die. I mean, that's kind of what we were all waiting for and finally having some closure and at least attempting to get back to something that resembles real life seemed appealing. A guy can only take so many repeated days of depression and watching a loved one wither away in a row. I keep re-reading those first couple sentences and I know it sounds horrible, but can't think of how to rephrase it to more accurately describe it. I just wanted it over and, being honest with myself and by speaking with the nurses/doctors, I knew he wasn't going to come out of this and be his old self. I mean, shit, he was in hospice care. That's just our modern way of basically acknowledging someone is dying without having to say that exact phrase.
One night we (my mom and I) went out to eat at Olive Garden. It was pretty close to the VA and seemed a lot better than fast-food or cafeteria digs. Nothing was particularly stand out about the meal except until the end. One of us had some leftovers and the (fairly new) waitress brought a box and was boxing it up for us to take "home." Her hand slipped, or spasmed or something, and she dropped the food all over the floor and burst into tears. You could tell she was having a bad day, she was nervous, and then she goes and has a moment that could happen to anyone and it just got to her. It wasn't a big deal by any stretch of anyone's imagination and certainly not worth crying over. Neither my mom or I were that distraught over the mediocre leftovers from Olive Garden - but I remember us both telling her how it wasn't a big deal and to forget about it. Really consoling this girl over some spilt pasta that someone half-asses from a freezer. This sticks out to me because I remember in that moment trying to get this girl to calm down about something as stupid as spilled pasta meanwhile my dad was stuck in a hospital bed staring at the ceiling and dying. I wasn't pissed at the dropped food, but I was pissed that this was something someone was wasting so much emotion on and I had to sit here and act like I gave a shit. I wanted to scream at her, "You think this is bad? Wait until you have to watch someone you love wither away in a fucking hospital while you have to go out to shitty Olive Garden for dinner! This. Doesn't. Matter. Get. Yourself. Together."
In hindsight I realize she might have been dealing with something else at home. Or maybe something similar but still had to work and this was just the straw that broke the camel's back. I dunno.
Other than that, it was all the same day in and day out. I couldn't tell you how long we were there, but it seems like it was weeks when I'm looking back at it. Until the 17th of January. I still felt stupid, it never didn't feel stupid, but I was talking to dad. His eyes did seem to move and focus on whoever was talking to him, so I had this idea that he was in there somewhere. And, yes, I talked about all the stupid shit from that other post. Divorce Court, whatever was going on in the news at the time, my thoughts and feelings on adding additional countries to NATO, and anything else my feeble mind could grasp onto.
I don't think there was ever a day that I didn't tell my dad I loved him while he was in the hospital. While I was blabbing on about stuff, I knew I had to stop and tell him just that. It seemed important right in the middle of a sentence, so I did. Then a crazy thing happened - he said it back. It was barely there, his voice was raspy and he could barely squeeze the words out, but it was there and this was the only time I can remember him saying anything the entire time we were visiting him. I still knew that things weren't going to get better, but it was a real indicator that he was there and aware of the things around him. That's also extremely depressing to think about, actually. It instantly brought tears to my eyes and it still does when I think about it.
I took the chance to talk to him more, and this is something I'll probably always feel on the fence about. I knew he was listening, so I told him everything I was feeling and how difficult it was to watch him suffer like I knew he had to be. I told him how much all the time he had ever spent with me meant to me and how there will always be certain things that make me think of him (thank Gandhi a lot of them are super cool things like the movie Pulp Fiction). The last thing I remember telling him was that if he was hanging on for me, not to. I told him it would suck, but I'd go on, I'd have to eventually any way... he couldn't be with me forever even if he didn't have cancer.
I already know the majority of people will at least say that was an honorable, or right, or brave, or difficult, or whatever thing to do. It was. I still don't know that it was right. I can't, for sure, say it was wrong either. I don't think any amount of discussion with anyone, or logical reasoning within my own head will convince me either way.
I hesitate to say something as sinister sounds as "it worked", but I don't know how else to say it. Because that was the day, 17th of January in 2005, that my dad passed away later that night. Maybe he "gave up" knowing that I was willing to march on without him. Maybe something else kicked in or took over and finally put him at rest. There's about a gazillion things that could be attributed to it - but I'll always have in the back of my fucked up mind, in some way, that I'm at least partly responsible for his death. And, yes, I know that's fucked and doesn't make sense - but neither does that damn Puff the Magic Dragon cartoon and I think about that a lot more often than I'd also care to admit.
The thing is, I said that, but I wasn't ready for it anyway. Hence the title of all these posts. But, I don't think anyone ever can be ready for something like that. Even when you know it's coming and on the horizon. I mean, Christ, he was in hospice so we knew it was coming. He was unresponsive and the doc himself said he wasn't sure how long he'd have... his eventual death was something that I had PLENTY of time to prepare for - but you just can't. I can't imagine any type of advice I could give anyone for losing someone as loved as I did my dad because there isn't any way to be ready for it. You never truly will be.
That's about all I care to share about this whole ordeal. There are, of course, a lot more details I've glossed over or ignored entirely but I think you get the general gist of the scenario. Even though I probably should have been addressing these issues a hell of a lot sooner, and not 11 years later, it has definitely helped me in some odd sense as well. I'll take this time to again thank everyone that took the time to read this and hope, maybe, it'll help someone dealing with similar issues. As for me, I'll keep plugging along... doing the damn thing. I don't have much choice, I promised my dad I would.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment