Mourning the loss of my dad.

I haven't written a blog post since the death of my father on March 2nd, 2015.  His death has given me many an opportunity to write, he is certainly worth writing about, but I have zero energy to sit and type.  Today felt like a better day and I decided I'd try it.  I have no outline, so I may just ramble here.  If not for anyone else' benefit but my own.

If I go back to the couple of weeks before my dad was given his test results, my sister and I had arranged to have my dad move home from Tennessee to Michigan.  Something he wasn't anxious to do but how were we to help him get the medical attention we felt he wasn't getting in Tennessee, if we didn't move him home.  My sister put a deposit down on an assisted living home and she jumped through every hoop to make sure it would be the perfect home for my dad.  I sat and watched her work on this task with such amazing confidence.  Being the oldest, she took the reigns and she still has them in her hands, even now as these days of sorting, filing and submitting continue.  She mentioned to me, that it was always possible when my dad heard his test results, all this work and success of finding the perfect home would be for nothing.  I prayed that would not be the case as I know she prayed as well.

One week after she secured everything my dad started making his lists of what he would be moving to Michigan with him.  What things he would be dividing up between his children, what would be donated, or left behind but all the while, the test results day came closer.  My dad left me a message on my home answering machine the day he would receive his test results.  He expressed that he hoped for the best and if he heard good news than, "Thank The Lord!" and if not, then that's the way it will be.  He prayed and prayed just as we all did.  He told me how much he loved me, how much he loved us all and how he especially loved his grandchildren and for me to show as much love as I could, because in life, Love is all that matters.

My sister called later that afternoon.  I was prepared for the miracle.  I was expecting good news.  Her first words were, "It's not good news."  I dropped down into a chair, I really didn't want to hear it but her next words were, "He's going to die in Tennessee Sarah."  I lost it.  I think I might have had a mental breakdown at that exact moment.  I screamed at my sister, "NO! NO! You Bring HIM HOME."  I begged her, "please, bring him by ambulance, bring him by Aero Med, bring him home, please."  Michigan was his home all but 10 years of his 77 year life.  She said, "Sarah, I can't.  He is too sick to travel."  I had to hang up the phone.  I couldn't talk to her.  I went to my bedroom and I screamed into a pillow, I rocked back and forth on my bed, I was so distraught, so upset, no words can even describe it.  It was as though my heart had been ripped right from my chest.  The worst feeling in all the world.  The words that I wished I would never have to hear in my life.

Watching my dad die in Hospice, down in Tennessee was unbearable at times.  I really felt if he could just stay pain free and last in his bed, at least I could still physically be with him, see him, hear him breath, feel his warmth.  There are steps one must take to die and as he took them, the nurses marked his progress towards death.  Moments where I broke down were hardly helped by prayer.  I sat in the chapel searching for Gods words, his comfort, his help, even miracles, but I knew his miracle would be taking my dads hand and leading him away to heaven.  At times there was simply no comfort, no way to find comfort from the pain, or the situation at hand or the surroundings that weighed the air down so heavily.  I would call home to talk to the children and remind myself throughout the conversation to be up beat, happy to hear their stories of their days, while I was away.  Consoling them as they expressed their sadness over their grandpa being so sick, or their loneliness for me.

I will never forget those days.  Sitting and watching him breath, listening to music we knew he loved.  Moments of wakefulness where he spoke, until it was just eyes communicating and sharing the love we had for each other back and forth with hand squeezes, or slight grins.  Knowing what was happening but resigned to it and not dwelling on the sadness but just enjoying our last moments together.

His last breaths were almost silent.  I knew when he was gone.  My sister said, "Look up, don't you feel him above us?"  I looked up and smiled.  I hoped that he had remained for those last moments to see us all huddled over him.  I hugged him, laid my head on his still chest and cried.  The silence in the body is terribly real, and there was no denying he was gone.  It was so terrible, and heart wrenching and so horrific.  This man who raised me, loved me, took care of me when I was sick or hurt or sad.  He lifted my spirits hundreds of times, he encouraged me, congratulated me, shared in my joys and shared in my sorrows.  He loved with his whole heart and his whole being.  He was so fun to talk to and we talked and talked some times daily, sometimes weekly, sometimes sitting together sometimes over the phone. We shared such wonderful laughs, and conversations.  Even if he wasn't in the mood to talk, I could lure him with politics and he would take off like a wild fire and we would chat for two hours.  I loved it.  How could I possibly go on without our conversations.  How?

I pass his pictures in my house everyday.  Sometimes it makes me smile, sometimes it makes me cry and cry.  Everything that I have of his, everything he left behind, just possessions that should be meaningless hold every bit of him in them.  I feel him in his stereo playing music, music that he loved.  His things are to me, like having him as my house guest.  I tell him in prayer that he is welcome to stay in my home anytime he wants, to please come visit, to listen to music with me, to ride in the car with me, to watch a t.v. show with me.  I don't know if he does all the time but I have felt that he has been in my house and I love that.  I need that, I tell him, I need him.  I need him so much.

My mom says, I'll never get over this, but I will get through it.  I understand that, but it feels like I have a hole in my heart that will never heal and I know with each person who I love so much, leaves, if I get to remain here on Earth for years to come, I know that I will only be adding more holes to my heart.  My heart will never be what it once was, ever again. 

Anyway,... there is so much I could say.  I know I will visit this more than once, and again, maybe just for my own benefit but I hope you find something in these writings that you will read along with me as I remember my dad.

S.