Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Dad throughout the years
I'm trying hard to always remember every detail of dad. One of the things that I remember the most is that he was a very gentle and kind man. He had a very quiet voice.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Things have changed so much.
It was 7 months since dad's passing on October 4th. I can't believe so much time has passed since dad died. I have held fast to the promise that I made to dad that I would turn my life around and I have done alot to keep that promise. I'm going back to school in a few weeks, and i'm going to continue to hold on to my promise to dad to finish this time.
I have gone this whole summer being ok with him not being here. It's the fall now, and it's alot more difficult. He had been sick all year long last year, 2009, but it was late September and into the fall that he really started spiraling. I seem to be reliving everything. It doesn't help any that Thanksgiving is right around the corner, and then Christmas, and then his birthday in January...
I had a dream about dad last night that really shook me hard. I woke up a little after 1:00 and couldn't go back to sleep.
The Dream.
"We were in the hospital and the doctor told dad that he was going to die on Wednesday. Then we were out in the truck, and I had my head in his lap. He was compaining about his stomach hurting and that it would shut down soon. I was looking up at him and running my hand through his hair on the side of his head. I told him I had started school, and he said his stomach was really hurting. I told him that I really loved him and that I was proud of him. He looked at me with a stern look on his face. Then he told me that this is it, his stomach was shutting down, and while I was looking up at him and running my hands through his hair, he closed his eyes and died…"
I think the reason the doctor told dad he was going to die on Wednesday was because in real life dad was told on a wednesday that he was going to die. The rest of this dream seems to be me telling dad the biggest accomplish i've made since he passed, taking the first steps toward my future. The rest was just a reflection of my love for him.
There's a huge part of me that wishes that I had been more emotional with dad when he was going through all of his illness. I was so in control of my emotions that when I was with him I was loving and nurturing and I never allowed myself to cry in front of him. I sat with him on the Saturday morning before the day Sunday that he died, and I did weep in front of him. I did reassure him that I'd be ok without him, and I got up and kissed him on his forehead and hugged him and told him I loved him, but I wish I would have kissed him like that everyday, and hugged him everyday. I did tell him that I loved him everyday, and that should be enough, but for some reason right now that doesn't feel like enough...
I just really miss dad...
I have gone this whole summer being ok with him not being here. It's the fall now, and it's alot more difficult. He had been sick all year long last year, 2009, but it was late September and into the fall that he really started spiraling. I seem to be reliving everything. It doesn't help any that Thanksgiving is right around the corner, and then Christmas, and then his birthday in January...
I had a dream about dad last night that really shook me hard. I woke up a little after 1:00 and couldn't go back to sleep.
The Dream.
"We were in the hospital and the doctor told dad that he was going to die on Wednesday. Then we were out in the truck, and I had my head in his lap. He was compaining about his stomach hurting and that it would shut down soon. I was looking up at him and running my hand through his hair on the side of his head. I told him I had started school, and he said his stomach was really hurting. I told him that I really loved him and that I was proud of him. He looked at me with a stern look on his face. Then he told me that this is it, his stomach was shutting down, and while I was looking up at him and running my hands through his hair, he closed his eyes and died…"
I think the reason the doctor told dad he was going to die on Wednesday was because in real life dad was told on a wednesday that he was going to die. The rest of this dream seems to be me telling dad the biggest accomplish i've made since he passed, taking the first steps toward my future. The rest was just a reflection of my love for him.
There's a huge part of me that wishes that I had been more emotional with dad when he was going through all of his illness. I was so in control of my emotions that when I was with him I was loving and nurturing and I never allowed myself to cry in front of him. I sat with him on the Saturday morning before the day Sunday that he died, and I did weep in front of him. I did reassure him that I'd be ok without him, and I got up and kissed him on his forehead and hugged him and told him I loved him, but I wish I would have kissed him like that everyday, and hugged him everyday. I did tell him that I loved him everyday, and that should be enough, but for some reason right now that doesn't feel like enough...
I just really miss dad...
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Photos of Dad
Deb, Dad, Teresa and meSo this was my first Christmas. Apparently Deb and Teresa would always get dad up super early Christmas morning. According to mom, this photo was taken between 3:00 and 4:00 am. No wonder dad looks so tired!
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Reminiscing
It’ll be 3 months since dad passed come July 4Th. I have been doing well with things. Mom has been really great. She has her bad days, and I have mine, but that’s to be expected. I have been trying to change my routine during the day. I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to find a job, trying to keep motivated and trying to move forward. I’ve still not returned to my normal self before dad's passing, but I think that will be impossible for me to do. This person that I am now is the new “normal”. I’m not as carefree, not as funny. I still have my dry wit, sarcasm, and benevolent nature though, that didn’t change, and probably because that’s so deeply rooted in who I am. My thoughts never stray far from dad. I miss him every day. I probably annoy people from my constant chatter about him, I hope not.
So I’m trying to remember things, trying to document thoughts and memories and keep up with my blog. I am evolving everyday and growing into my new vessel. It’s just a slow process.
So here are a few thoughts I've had today about dad.
Dad always seemed to be a very active and healthy man. Sure, he had minute problems with his health, but nothing ever major. I think he suffered from hypertension, and had a problem with his heart beating too fast, but he never showed signs of needing to slow down. It just seemed that he had the metabolism that allowed him to eat whatever he wanted and he never gained a pound. He was constantly creating new concoctions, always of the pastry variety. He had a sweet tooth and I always thought I got my mom’s genes, since I loved sweets too and I tend to lean towards being overweight. So there were some expressions of concern from time to time over the years about his “thinness” and his inability to gain weight, but no one ever really thought too long on the subject. Dad even talked about it to me from time to time.
He loved to fish and he had a collection of boats to prove that fact. He had a 14 foot john boat, a creek boat, and a 16 foot scanoe. He had a decent collection of fishing rods and reels and boat accessories and several boat motors. He just needed a fishing partner to help him get in and out of the river. Often times, in the past, he’d call and ask me and inevitable I’d say I couldn’t. I had always battled depression and anxiety, so it wasn’t uncharacteristic of me to put off everyone… I regret that a lot. I did get to spend the last year of his life getting to do those things with him. I don’t know exactly how many times we went fishing together in 09’ but we started in April and we fished through August. He wanted to go fishing on Labor Day but I wasn’t feeling well. I remember him calling me the Friday prior. He was all excited and really wanted to go fishing. I kept trying to negotiate another time, but he wanted to go on Labor Day. In our conversation he reminisced about how that was our tradition. We had always done that when I was growing up. I don’t know when it started, but I have vivid memories. I never realized that that would have been our last fishing trip together, his last fishing trip. I feel very guilty over that, and I see now how my depression has caused other people, other than myself, grief. Just one month later dad’s life, as he knew it, was going to change. Had I only known?
I keep trying to remember all the things dad had told me over the years. He tried to tell me about his family history, about his adventures in tracing his genealogy. I actively listened, but I didn’t absorb it. To be fair, I have always had a hard time absorbing anything, that’s why I never furthered my education. Dad always stressed family, but I never took much stock in it. I remember growing up going with him to visit great aunts and great uncles and various other family members. I remember how uncomfortable I was with visiting, especially when one particular great aunt or uncle would have a cold nature about them and the room you’d be sitting in would literally be in the 90’s from kerosene heat, or there was an ill tempered Chihuahua involved. Then there was my favorite relative that lived in Kinston. There were always several cousins my age to play with. This particular great aunt worked at a dairy shop, so we always got ice-cream when we visited. She lived in a cool two story house that always seemed to be filled with treasures. I remember I use to climb the stairs and then slide down them… I’d always get upset and cry over the rug burns, but I’d soon forget and do the same thing each time we’d visit. On the way home we’d always stop at the same barbecue restaurant and we’d always get a barbecue sandwich and mountain dew. I miss those barbecue sandwiches. I miss that aunt.
The reason my dad was so family oriented was because his childhood was spent living with different relatives. He lived with his grandparents for a while. He deeply loved his grandparents. When he was lying on his death bed, weeks prior to dying, he'd talk about his grandfather and cry. He still missed him... That says an awful lot to me about the kind of person dad was. I wish I had known that deep passion and love that he had in him. I just never noticed it...
So I’m trying to remember things, trying to document thoughts and memories and keep up with my blog. I am evolving everyday and growing into my new vessel. It’s just a slow process.
So here are a few thoughts I've had today about dad.
Dad always seemed to be a very active and healthy man. Sure, he had minute problems with his health, but nothing ever major. I think he suffered from hypertension, and had a problem with his heart beating too fast, but he never showed signs of needing to slow down. It just seemed that he had the metabolism that allowed him to eat whatever he wanted and he never gained a pound. He was constantly creating new concoctions, always of the pastry variety. He had a sweet tooth and I always thought I got my mom’s genes, since I loved sweets too and I tend to lean towards being overweight. So there were some expressions of concern from time to time over the years about his “thinness” and his inability to gain weight, but no one ever really thought too long on the subject. Dad even talked about it to me from time to time.
He loved to fish and he had a collection of boats to prove that fact. He had a 14 foot john boat, a creek boat, and a 16 foot scanoe. He had a decent collection of fishing rods and reels and boat accessories and several boat motors. He just needed a fishing partner to help him get in and out of the river. Often times, in the past, he’d call and ask me and inevitable I’d say I couldn’t. I had always battled depression and anxiety, so it wasn’t uncharacteristic of me to put off everyone… I regret that a lot. I did get to spend the last year of his life getting to do those things with him. I don’t know exactly how many times we went fishing together in 09’ but we started in April and we fished through August. He wanted to go fishing on Labor Day but I wasn’t feeling well. I remember him calling me the Friday prior. He was all excited and really wanted to go fishing. I kept trying to negotiate another time, but he wanted to go on Labor Day. In our conversation he reminisced about how that was our tradition. We had always done that when I was growing up. I don’t know when it started, but I have vivid memories. I never realized that that would have been our last fishing trip together, his last fishing trip. I feel very guilty over that, and I see now how my depression has caused other people, other than myself, grief. Just one month later dad’s life, as he knew it, was going to change. Had I only known?
I keep trying to remember all the things dad had told me over the years. He tried to tell me about his family history, about his adventures in tracing his genealogy. I actively listened, but I didn’t absorb it. To be fair, I have always had a hard time absorbing anything, that’s why I never furthered my education. Dad always stressed family, but I never took much stock in it. I remember growing up going with him to visit great aunts and great uncles and various other family members. I remember how uncomfortable I was with visiting, especially when one particular great aunt or uncle would have a cold nature about them and the room you’d be sitting in would literally be in the 90’s from kerosene heat, or there was an ill tempered Chihuahua involved. Then there was my favorite relative that lived in Kinston. There were always several cousins my age to play with. This particular great aunt worked at a dairy shop, so we always got ice-cream when we visited. She lived in a cool two story house that always seemed to be filled with treasures. I remember I use to climb the stairs and then slide down them… I’d always get upset and cry over the rug burns, but I’d soon forget and do the same thing each time we’d visit. On the way home we’d always stop at the same barbecue restaurant and we’d always get a barbecue sandwich and mountain dew. I miss those barbecue sandwiches. I miss that aunt.
The reason my dad was so family oriented was because his childhood was spent living with different relatives. He lived with his grandparents for a while. He deeply loved his grandparents. When he was lying on his death bed, weeks prior to dying, he'd talk about his grandfather and cry. He still missed him... That says an awful lot to me about the kind of person dad was. I wish I had known that deep passion and love that he had in him. I just never noticed it...
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Thoughts on cleaning house.
I didn’t realize what it would feel like to accomplish such a huge task as repainting all the rooms in my mom’s house. I think I didn’t take into consideration that what I was doing was essentially removing all remnants of dad from the house. The only thing left is the paneling in the kitchen, dining room and hall way. He loved his paneling; I don’t think I could stand to change that. Also I don’t think I took into consideration that once I was through, what would I do to occupy mom? So now I’m emotionally blocked with the obstacle of what to do now. Do I sling shot into my life and leave mom on the side lines for a while? I know she will be ok and I’ll still see her once or twice a week, and of course I’ll call her every day.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Life with Mom
Well, it's been a long time since I've posted anything here. I haven't given up on this blog. I just seem to be so lost and preoccupied with mom. I have been painting her house on the inside and redecorating for her and it's just time consuming... I'll be back and in a day or so to write more.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Conversation with Dad
I keep thinking this whole experience is nothing more than a dream. It just seems so unreal to think that I helped you through the dying process. It doesn’t seem like 5 months has gone by since you were diagnosed and passed. I know I haven’t been by your grave in the past two weeks, I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy with mom and you know she needs me quite a bit now.
I have this thought in my mind where whatever I type on this computer about you; somehow you get it where ever you are. I know, it’s a childish thought, but isn’t it interesting to think that I can still have a conversation with you, even if it is just a conversation with you in my imagination.
I’ve done a lot since you’ve been gone. I’ve cleaned out all the closets, and sorted through your dresser and all your personal belongings. We found all of your coin stashes and mom has been rolling quarters like you wouldn’t believe. I painted the living room a nice shade of blue; the cream colored walls were a bit much for us. You would have like the blue color; it makes the carpet look darker and newer. I painted moms room a lovely shade of lavender; you wouldn’t like it, too feminine. I had all of your miscellaneous stuff that was out in back and all the limbs and straw hauled off. It looks a lot better now, and it doesn’t seem so snaky. I cleaned out your barn, and man oh man you weren’t kidding, you did have a lot of junk out there! I left everything else in there the way you had it. I don’t have the heart to move any of it. I’ve been keeping the grass cut, and I’ve been over there almost every day helping mom with something or another.
Remember those two outdoor metal chairs that you got from grandpa? I brought them home and Mike and I restored them. They look really good; they’re a light blue color with white frame. Mom has them sitting out front beneath the trees with a green glider she bought from Lowes. Don’t worry, she has been rolling quarters and buying stuff, she’s very conscientious with her budget. I have a lot of your personal stuff at my house. I took all of your wildlife calendars and chose 12 of my favorite pictures out of them and framed them. I have turned my office into a memory room for you. I have your Tilly hat hanging on the wall with a photo of you when we were fishing together this past year. I found a tomahawk you made when were little and I’ve got that hanging there up alongside the picture and hat with a shelf with your first bible and two of your bird statues and a knife you made. I also brought home all of your nature books and I have them in the office in my book case. Dad, I’m surrounded by you all the time when I’m in that room. I’m discovering that I miss you something awful and I find myself sitting in there in the recliner, grieving. You wouldn’t like that at all, I know, but I don’t think I’ve allowed myself that since you’ve been gone. So I’m working it out.
I went fishing with a friend last Friday. We went to Steven's Mill Pond. It seemed nice getting out on the river.
Thinking of you every second of every day and missing you so much.
I have this thought in my mind where whatever I type on this computer about you; somehow you get it where ever you are. I know, it’s a childish thought, but isn’t it interesting to think that I can still have a conversation with you, even if it is just a conversation with you in my imagination.
I’ve done a lot since you’ve been gone. I’ve cleaned out all the closets, and sorted through your dresser and all your personal belongings. We found all of your coin stashes and mom has been rolling quarters like you wouldn’t believe. I painted the living room a nice shade of blue; the cream colored walls were a bit much for us. You would have like the blue color; it makes the carpet look darker and newer. I painted moms room a lovely shade of lavender; you wouldn’t like it, too feminine. I had all of your miscellaneous stuff that was out in back and all the limbs and straw hauled off. It looks a lot better now, and it doesn’t seem so snaky. I cleaned out your barn, and man oh man you weren’t kidding, you did have a lot of junk out there! I left everything else in there the way you had it. I don’t have the heart to move any of it. I’ve been keeping the grass cut, and I’ve been over there almost every day helping mom with something or another.
Remember those two outdoor metal chairs that you got from grandpa? I brought them home and Mike and I restored them. They look really good; they’re a light blue color with white frame. Mom has them sitting out front beneath the trees with a green glider she bought from Lowes. Don’t worry, she has been rolling quarters and buying stuff, she’s very conscientious with her budget. I have a lot of your personal stuff at my house. I took all of your wildlife calendars and chose 12 of my favorite pictures out of them and framed them. I have turned my office into a memory room for you. I have your Tilly hat hanging on the wall with a photo of you when we were fishing together this past year. I found a tomahawk you made when were little and I’ve got that hanging there up alongside the picture and hat with a shelf with your first bible and two of your bird statues and a knife you made. I also brought home all of your nature books and I have them in the office in my book case. Dad, I’m surrounded by you all the time when I’m in that room. I’m discovering that I miss you something awful and I find myself sitting in there in the recliner, grieving. You wouldn’t like that at all, I know, but I don’t think I’ve allowed myself that since you’ve been gone. So I’m working it out.
I went fishing with a friend last Friday. We went to Steven's Mill Pond. It seemed nice getting out on the river.
Thinking of you every second of every day and missing you so much.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
18 A.D (18 days After.Dad)
So this time that has gone by has been fast. I can't believe that dad has been gone a little over two weeks now. It hasn't been as bad I had imagined. I don't know if this makes sense, but I grieved for dad while dad was still with us. By doing that I have an easier time moving forward. I have only gone to visit dad's grave once. I know, I should go more often, and I will make it a plan to go once a week every week. I am so afraid that I am going to start forgetting things about dad, things that are important to me. His voice is still on mom's answering machine, and I've got video of dad carrying on a conversation with us back in 2008 at Thanksgiving. Grandma is also in that video. She died two months before dad.
How do I feel? I feel a complexity of things. I have feelings that I should feel guilty about, but I don't. Dad always was the one person in my life that I gauged everything towards. I acted the way I thought I should around him. I spoke of certain things and didn't speak of certain things. I always felt ashamed of my life because I knew dad didn't approve, but he never said anything contrary of that. He was always accepting of me and he welcomed me into his life daily. Now that dad is gone I don't feel the pressure of any of that anymore, and I feel relieved... Dad constantly told me that he was proud of me, but I haven't ever done anything, at least in my eyes, for him to be proud of. He listed things for me when I asked him why he was proud of me, but still... So I no longer feel the constant longing for dad to be proud of me, he was, and now there is no one left to fill his shoes and I don't have to feel that way anymore. I am released. The father/son connection, at least on this earth, is relinquished. So all the things that I do are gauged towards my self.
I have been helping mom alot. I have been going over there pretty much everyday doing one thing or another. It is very important that I help make her home more "her" home. I've painted her livingroom and her bedroom. She picked out the colors and now those rooms feel like her. I plan on painting the rest of the interior, and hopefully she will decide to paint of the dark 70's paneling that runs through the entire kitchen/dining area. I have kept her yard clean, and I have micro-managed the removal of all of dad's junk and yard debris. I have cleaned out all of her closets and dad's dresser. I plan on spending the next month with her transitioning and then i'm going to gradually ween myself away and into my own life. I will still be there for her, but she's going to be ok, she's strong.
I think once I am confident that mom's house is sorted, I will feel more released than ever knowing that I have done everything I could to make her happy and confident in her life during this transition. I think she will feel released as well once this is all done, and I think she will be more able to move on with her life.
How do I feel? I feel a complexity of things. I have feelings that I should feel guilty about, but I don't. Dad always was the one person in my life that I gauged everything towards. I acted the way I thought I should around him. I spoke of certain things and didn't speak of certain things. I always felt ashamed of my life because I knew dad didn't approve, but he never said anything contrary of that. He was always accepting of me and he welcomed me into his life daily. Now that dad is gone I don't feel the pressure of any of that anymore, and I feel relieved... Dad constantly told me that he was proud of me, but I haven't ever done anything, at least in my eyes, for him to be proud of. He listed things for me when I asked him why he was proud of me, but still... So I no longer feel the constant longing for dad to be proud of me, he was, and now there is no one left to fill his shoes and I don't have to feel that way anymore. I am released. The father/son connection, at least on this earth, is relinquished. So all the things that I do are gauged towards my self.
I have been helping mom alot. I have been going over there pretty much everyday doing one thing or another. It is very important that I help make her home more "her" home. I've painted her livingroom and her bedroom. She picked out the colors and now those rooms feel like her. I plan on painting the rest of the interior, and hopefully she will decide to paint of the dark 70's paneling that runs through the entire kitchen/dining area. I have kept her yard clean, and I have micro-managed the removal of all of dad's junk and yard debris. I have cleaned out all of her closets and dad's dresser. I plan on spending the next month with her transitioning and then i'm going to gradually ween myself away and into my own life. I will still be there for her, but she's going to be ok, she's strong.
I think once I am confident that mom's house is sorted, I will feel more released than ever knowing that I have done everything I could to make her happy and confident in her life during this transition. I think she will feel released as well once this is all done, and I think she will be more able to move on with her life.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Images from Dad's Funeral
Dad... he always wore his plaid shirts and his jeans.
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A Collection of photos
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Casket Spray of Flowers
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Dad's Casket
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Dad's Casket at Graveside
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The Graveside Service
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The Vault Lid. "Gone Fishing" I keep thinking he is up at the perfect fishing spot and he's catching nothing but Champion sized Bream...
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Further Rememberances of Dad's Passing
I had left out some interesting descriptions and details of dad's passing on Sunday April 4th. I really want to go into it and describe a few things so that I don't forget them.
Right after I spoke with dad and squeezed his knee and told him that I loved him I headed out the door to go home to get a change of clothing. I don’t really know why I was going home to get a change of clothing. I think it was either because subconsciously I wanted to get out of the experience with dad for just a little while, or I just wasn’t thinking clearly. I remember getting into my car, and putting it in reverse and immediately calling Mike. I told him about what I had gone through with dad that morning and the previous night and I cried. After I talked to Mike, I called my sister Debbie. I wanted to talk to her and I needed to vent in such a way to let her know how I felt about this situation in hopes that it would sort of relieve me from the things that were happening. I remember just going into great detail of having to clean dad up, and how it felt to me. I just told her everything I was feeling, and there was a good deal of anger involved. The last thing I told her was how I did not want to be there when daddy died. She was shocked by that. It was because I had already seen so much and to have to live with dads finally act of dying was too much for me. I believe dad knew that too and that is why he waited for me to leave. Mom made the same comment.
When I was back at moms, after getting the phone call from Teresa that dad had died, I noticed that dad really did look the same to me as he did when he would sleep. His mouth always sort of fell open and he could just never close his eyes all the way. So many times we would watch him to make sure he was still breathing, all of us so nervous and always on edge. The only difference really was his skin coloring. He had gone a shade of yellow.
We waited now for the hospice nurse to come and pronounce dad dead. Mom sat on the couch, tears streaming, just repeating out loud how dad went. Family members sort of drifted around as if they were in a daze. When the hospice nurse arrived, she came in and she was very serious and quiet. Mom told what happened and how dad came to be in this state. The nurse checked dad and confirmed the obvious. Mom asked her if she could close dad’s mouth, but to no avail it could not be done. The muscles no longer worked. She asked me to help her shift dad up some so she could straighten out his leg. Dad had left us with one leg bent, like he was just resting still. When she moved dad upward, you could hear air escaping from his lungs. I tried not to notice. She pulled the sheet up to his chest and then called Parrish Funeral Home.
It was sort of awkward for her, it had to be. She stood under the carport and waited for Parrish to arrive. All the family was doing what they could do to console each other. I sort of stuck near the nurse and tried to make her feel comfortable. Funny how I do things like that, I mean I was concerned about her and didn’t think to comfort anyone else, not even myself. I spoke about dad, about his final breath as told by mom. Then we talked about the spring, the trees and the flowers. She was curious about the trees in the front yard so we walked out and I told her about each one.
Parrish arrived in a white van. They came in the front door. They asked if we wanted to cover dad’s face when they took him out. Mom wanted that, so they put dad on a bed and they wrapped him in sheets and then instead of a body bag, they had a quilt with elastic around the edges. They put the quilt over him and it sort of enclosed around the sides of the bed itself. They then put seatbelt straps across him and carried him out the front door. We stood and watched dad’s final exit. The first time he had been outside of the house in four months.
Once the hospice nurse and Parrish Funeral Home left, we all sort of stood around in stunned silence. It was over. Dad was gone. Everything we had done, Mom, grandma, hospice and me, was complete. It felt like a dream and it happened so fast, even though it was 4 months.
After staying for a while with mom and the family, Mike drove me back home to eat lunch and get some clothing. We had hotdogs because it was quick. They were terrible, and I shouldn’t have eaten anything to begin with. After I changed my clothes I drove myself back to moms. On my way there everything hit me, and I couldn’t quit crying. I just kept thinking I’d never see dad again. Never get to ask him for his advice, or if I had a mechanical problem he’d never be able to help me solve it. I’d never get to hang out with dad or go fishing with him. He left, but at least I didn’t feel like I was abandoned by him. He did prepare me for this. He was absolutely amazing through all of it.
Once back at moms I walked past the living room, I couldn’t bear to look in at the bed. I went straight to the bathroom, closed and locked the door and proceeded to cry. After I did that for a while, I got myself together and went into the office and just sat there in the recliner. I had hoped everyone would leave me alone. My mom came in and checked on me. She saw that I was upset and she placed her hand on my leg, and I remember I wanted to scream and recoil because the mere touch of her hand on my skin felt like hot embers. I don’t like to be comforted, I don’t why, I just don’t. I got up and sat in front of the computer monitor and pretended to surf the net. I just sat there and stared through my tears hoping they’d go away. My older sister came in and sat down, and she started talking about dad. I told her I didn’t want to talk about dad anymore. She was fine with that. I just needed to get myself together and I couldn’t if things kept being so open and raw. Finally after a few minutes it hit me and I announced we were going to dismantle the hospice bed and drag it out the front door and put it under the carport. With some difficulty we did just that. The house sighed relief. We put the living room back together the way it use to be and it felt good.
Right after I spoke with dad and squeezed his knee and told him that I loved him I headed out the door to go home to get a change of clothing. I don’t really know why I was going home to get a change of clothing. I think it was either because subconsciously I wanted to get out of the experience with dad for just a little while, or I just wasn’t thinking clearly. I remember getting into my car, and putting it in reverse and immediately calling Mike. I told him about what I had gone through with dad that morning and the previous night and I cried. After I talked to Mike, I called my sister Debbie. I wanted to talk to her and I needed to vent in such a way to let her know how I felt about this situation in hopes that it would sort of relieve me from the things that were happening. I remember just going into great detail of having to clean dad up, and how it felt to me. I just told her everything I was feeling, and there was a good deal of anger involved. The last thing I told her was how I did not want to be there when daddy died. She was shocked by that. It was because I had already seen so much and to have to live with dads finally act of dying was too much for me. I believe dad knew that too and that is why he waited for me to leave. Mom made the same comment.
When I was back at moms, after getting the phone call from Teresa that dad had died, I noticed that dad really did look the same to me as he did when he would sleep. His mouth always sort of fell open and he could just never close his eyes all the way. So many times we would watch him to make sure he was still breathing, all of us so nervous and always on edge. The only difference really was his skin coloring. He had gone a shade of yellow.
We waited now for the hospice nurse to come and pronounce dad dead. Mom sat on the couch, tears streaming, just repeating out loud how dad went. Family members sort of drifted around as if they were in a daze. When the hospice nurse arrived, she came in and she was very serious and quiet. Mom told what happened and how dad came to be in this state. The nurse checked dad and confirmed the obvious. Mom asked her if she could close dad’s mouth, but to no avail it could not be done. The muscles no longer worked. She asked me to help her shift dad up some so she could straighten out his leg. Dad had left us with one leg bent, like he was just resting still. When she moved dad upward, you could hear air escaping from his lungs. I tried not to notice. She pulled the sheet up to his chest and then called Parrish Funeral Home.
It was sort of awkward for her, it had to be. She stood under the carport and waited for Parrish to arrive. All the family was doing what they could do to console each other. I sort of stuck near the nurse and tried to make her feel comfortable. Funny how I do things like that, I mean I was concerned about her and didn’t think to comfort anyone else, not even myself. I spoke about dad, about his final breath as told by mom. Then we talked about the spring, the trees and the flowers. She was curious about the trees in the front yard so we walked out and I told her about each one.
Parrish arrived in a white van. They came in the front door. They asked if we wanted to cover dad’s face when they took him out. Mom wanted that, so they put dad on a bed and they wrapped him in sheets and then instead of a body bag, they had a quilt with elastic around the edges. They put the quilt over him and it sort of enclosed around the sides of the bed itself. They then put seatbelt straps across him and carried him out the front door. We stood and watched dad’s final exit. The first time he had been outside of the house in four months.
Once the hospice nurse and Parrish Funeral Home left, we all sort of stood around in stunned silence. It was over. Dad was gone. Everything we had done, Mom, grandma, hospice and me, was complete. It felt like a dream and it happened so fast, even though it was 4 months.
After staying for a while with mom and the family, Mike drove me back home to eat lunch and get some clothing. We had hotdogs because it was quick. They were terrible, and I shouldn’t have eaten anything to begin with. After I changed my clothes I drove myself back to moms. On my way there everything hit me, and I couldn’t quit crying. I just kept thinking I’d never see dad again. Never get to ask him for his advice, or if I had a mechanical problem he’d never be able to help me solve it. I’d never get to hang out with dad or go fishing with him. He left, but at least I didn’t feel like I was abandoned by him. He did prepare me for this. He was absolutely amazing through all of it.
Once back at moms I walked past the living room, I couldn’t bear to look in at the bed. I went straight to the bathroom, closed and locked the door and proceeded to cry. After I did that for a while, I got myself together and went into the office and just sat there in the recliner. I had hoped everyone would leave me alone. My mom came in and checked on me. She saw that I was upset and she placed her hand on my leg, and I remember I wanted to scream and recoil because the mere touch of her hand on my skin felt like hot embers. I don’t like to be comforted, I don’t why, I just don’t. I got up and sat in front of the computer monitor and pretended to surf the net. I just sat there and stared through my tears hoping they’d go away. My older sister came in and sat down, and she started talking about dad. I told her I didn’t want to talk about dad anymore. She was fine with that. I just needed to get myself together and I couldn’t if things kept being so open and raw. Finally after a few minutes it hit me and I announced we were going to dismantle the hospice bed and drag it out the front door and put it under the carport. With some difficulty we did just that. The house sighed relief. We put the living room back together the way it use to be and it felt good.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Dad's Funeral, Dad's Grave Side, and Finality
Tuesday morning I didn’t get much sleep. I woke up at 3, just awake and heavy with thought. I got up at 3:30 and got dressed for the day. I drank my coffee and spent 3 hours writing dad’s letter. It just seemed to pour out of me. I went over to moms around 10:30 that morning and rode with her to see dad at the funeral home. When I walked through the doors and headed down the hallway towards dad I could feel my body constricting and pulling me in the opposite direction. I just kept walking because I knew that it would pass. I glanced in and saw dad’s coffin and just had to walk past the room, I could feel and upheaval of emotion and I wasn’t ready to do that in front of people. After I gathered myself together I went in and saw dad. All I could hear was people saying how good he looked. He didn’t look good. Are you kidding me? He looked like a mannequin. They put too much foundation color, or whatever you’d call that stuff, on him. He looked too made up. I guess I had seen him for so long in such a state of deathlike apparition, that I couldn’t tell a difference. The one thing that I was taken aback by was how long his eyelashes were. That was just amazing to me. Mine are long and I use to always get comments on that when I was a little boy. Now I know where I got them. Mom didn’t want dad dressed in a suit. She wanted him dressed in his casual clothes. So he was buried in a plaid shirt and jeans. They asked for underclothing, so yes he was wearing a t-shirt and underwear and socks.
After we got back from visiting with dad we had lunch. My sisters did not come by for support and only one sister came to the viewing. So it fell upon me once again to comfort mom alone. After we had lunch, mom and I had to go back to the cemetery to straighten out the funeral plots. Once we got there we discovered that the woman who sold us the three plots had sold us three plots that belonged to someone else. We were both astonished that that could happen. It ended up working out better, because the three plots we picked out actually were in a better location with shade, and near dad’s father.
I came back home for a while to get into my funeral clothing, and to pick up Mike and then we headed over to moms. We were both very somber. Once we got to mom’s some of his brothers and his sisters were there. We spoke with them for a while and then got ready to head to the funeral home. We go there around 5:20 and took our time looking at all of dad’s flowers. They were all so beautiful. Mom was very happy with all of them and especially the casket spray that she picked out for him.
Soon everyone started showing up. There were the Parkers from Kinston, the Johnson’s from Virginia and North Carolina, and the Worley’s from Selma, and family members that I can’t remember their names from all over the state. I was so impressed with the gathering. We mingled and chatted amongst ourselves for a while. Most of these people I haven’t spoken too since I was a little kid. Some were upset and visibly shaken, and others seemed to be at peace with things. I was feeling ok. I didn’t seem to have any pain yet.
The funeral director came and got us all and we filed out down the hall and through the lobby and outside through the carport area and into the family room entrance. There were a lot of us. We ended up fitting 9 to our bench. It was Mom, then me, Gary, Teresa, Michael, Debbie, Brittany and Grandma. When I first sat down Teresa was sitting beside mom. Mom quickly told Teresa to trade places with me. I’m glad she did. Mom had asked me a while back to sit beside her. I should have done that to begin with.
So after we were all seated the funeral began. It slapped me hard and I began crying. I tried to hold it together, but you really can’t in such a situation as this. The first preacher said a lot of good things. He had known dad for a long time, so he was spot on with everything he said. Then there was a song sung. I’m not sure of the name, but it was beautiful. Then the second preacher got up and he started speaking. I kept thinking about the letter I wrote and I was suddenly embarrassed. I was afraid of how it would sound. I was afraid that it was going to be childish or come across as something other than what I meant it. Once the preacher got through his speaking, he introduced the letter. He read it and it was so beautiful. I honestly couldn’t believe that that came out of me. I held my breath and just literally turned purple with despair and such upheaval of sorrow. Mom put her arm around me and comforted me. I just tried so hard not to make any guttural sounds, I wanted to maintain my composure so bad but couldn’t. That letter sounded like everything I could have ever said about my dad, and it just sounded so perfect. Then he finished, and it was suddenly over. He told everyone to remain seated while the family was brought out for visitation.
When the funeral director started lining chairs up out in the sanctuary at the front by the podium I kept thinking “I can’t do this…” I was very scared. Mom was first out, and then I was right beside her. Then everyone in the family poured forth. The first thought I had was feeling like we were in a play and this was the stage, and none of this was real, just an act. Then after we were all seated people in the sanctuary got up and filed out into the center aisle. They stretched all the way out the back door into the lobby. I was amazed. People started with mom and then worked over to me. They hugged me and shook my hand and some told me how beautiful the letter was, and how I had a wonderful dad. They all told me how sorry they were for my loss. One person told me to strive to be like my dad, and one person told me to write down all the advice dad gave me through the years. One person even told me that I should take his place as greeter at his church. I wanted to say “I’m not going to try to take my dad’s place” but I ended up saying, we’ll see and maybe… I saw people that I didn’t know; most were people that went to their church. There were lots of extended family, and distant cousins. After it was all over and most of the people had left, mom came and told us she was ready to go. Mike and I gathered ourselves together and took her home. Once there, yet again, I discovered my sisters were nowhere around. One sister went to see her mother-in-law, and the other sister went home. I know they both were dealing with their grief in their on way. It's ok and I understand I just hope they both can get through it.
I proceeded to pull food out of the fridge. I heated up stuff and laid plates on the table. It ended up only being mom, grandma, Mike and me, as usual… The one thing I felt good about was how we were actually eating out of real plates and not paper plates. We had been using paper plates for four months. It started to feel like a new normal. While eating, I noticed mom’s actions and her current mood. She seemed to be handling everything ok. I felt ok at that point too. We stayed awhile and then around 10 or so we left to go home. I didn’t want to leave mom, and it hurt me that I did. I know I could have gone back and spent the night, and I asked, and she not too. Once we got home I just wanted to go to bed. I had been up since 3:30 that morning and I was dog tired.
The next morning we got up and headed over to mom’s for the grave side service. Mom, Mike and I rode together in mom’s car. We ended up being a few minutes late for the service. I guess we just let time get away from us. There weren’t that many people there, but the ones that were there were mainly family. A few of my friend were there, and Penny and Meredith were there. It was a short beautiful service. We got up and hugged and talked to a lot of people. Dad’s vault lid was beautiful. It had two men in a boat. They were fishing with colorful fish beneath them. Below the picture it said “Gone Fishing”. I felt very sad and I felt a sharp pain of finality.
Once we left to go back to moms, we began setting up the kitchen area for the ridiculous amount of food that was on its way. I had no idea just how much food there would be. All of dad’s brothers and sisters were there and all of dad’s children were there. We sat up the food area and prepared to eat. Mom, Brittany, Teresa, Michael, Debbie, Me, and Tori sat at the round dining table and ate. Afterwards I showed Debbie and Teresa dad’s hospital papers. It showed the actual procedure of his operation and diagnosis. We discovered that what he had was hereditary and I left that thought with them and moved on into the living room.
I won’t go into all the feelings that I was having on this particular day, but I will say after we cleaned up and after both my sisters left, I suddenly felt the weight of mom’s fragility on my shoulders. I stayed and Mike went home to do a few things around the house. It was jus t mom, grandma and me now. We all three took a nap. Then we got up and went to see dad’s grave. It was difficult for me to see. I kept having waves of emotion that I couldn’t keep down. Then we headed back over to moms where mom, grandma and I decided to plant the three Hydrangeas and the One Azalea that was part of dad’s funeral. Once we did that, one of my sisters decided to come back over for a while. Mom, grandma and I ate dinner and then cleaned up and then my sister brought me home. It was after 9 when I got home. So even though I had been with mom all day, I cried for having to leave her.
After we got back from visiting with dad we had lunch. My sisters did not come by for support and only one sister came to the viewing. So it fell upon me once again to comfort mom alone. After we had lunch, mom and I had to go back to the cemetery to straighten out the funeral plots. Once we got there we discovered that the woman who sold us the three plots had sold us three plots that belonged to someone else. We were both astonished that that could happen. It ended up working out better, because the three plots we picked out actually were in a better location with shade, and near dad’s father.
I came back home for a while to get into my funeral clothing, and to pick up Mike and then we headed over to moms. We were both very somber. Once we got to mom’s some of his brothers and his sisters were there. We spoke with them for a while and then got ready to head to the funeral home. We go there around 5:20 and took our time looking at all of dad’s flowers. They were all so beautiful. Mom was very happy with all of them and especially the casket spray that she picked out for him.
Soon everyone started showing up. There were the Parkers from Kinston, the Johnson’s from Virginia and North Carolina, and the Worley’s from Selma, and family members that I can’t remember their names from all over the state. I was so impressed with the gathering. We mingled and chatted amongst ourselves for a while. Most of these people I haven’t spoken too since I was a little kid. Some were upset and visibly shaken, and others seemed to be at peace with things. I was feeling ok. I didn’t seem to have any pain yet.
The funeral director came and got us all and we filed out down the hall and through the lobby and outside through the carport area and into the family room entrance. There were a lot of us. We ended up fitting 9 to our bench. It was Mom, then me, Gary, Teresa, Michael, Debbie, Brittany and Grandma. When I first sat down Teresa was sitting beside mom. Mom quickly told Teresa to trade places with me. I’m glad she did. Mom had asked me a while back to sit beside her. I should have done that to begin with.
So after we were all seated the funeral began. It slapped me hard and I began crying. I tried to hold it together, but you really can’t in such a situation as this. The first preacher said a lot of good things. He had known dad for a long time, so he was spot on with everything he said. Then there was a song sung. I’m not sure of the name, but it was beautiful. Then the second preacher got up and he started speaking. I kept thinking about the letter I wrote and I was suddenly embarrassed. I was afraid of how it would sound. I was afraid that it was going to be childish or come across as something other than what I meant it. Once the preacher got through his speaking, he introduced the letter. He read it and it was so beautiful. I honestly couldn’t believe that that came out of me. I held my breath and just literally turned purple with despair and such upheaval of sorrow. Mom put her arm around me and comforted me. I just tried so hard not to make any guttural sounds, I wanted to maintain my composure so bad but couldn’t. That letter sounded like everything I could have ever said about my dad, and it just sounded so perfect. Then he finished, and it was suddenly over. He told everyone to remain seated while the family was brought out for visitation.
When the funeral director started lining chairs up out in the sanctuary at the front by the podium I kept thinking “I can’t do this…” I was very scared. Mom was first out, and then I was right beside her. Then everyone in the family poured forth. The first thought I had was feeling like we were in a play and this was the stage, and none of this was real, just an act. Then after we were all seated people in the sanctuary got up and filed out into the center aisle. They stretched all the way out the back door into the lobby. I was amazed. People started with mom and then worked over to me. They hugged me and shook my hand and some told me how beautiful the letter was, and how I had a wonderful dad. They all told me how sorry they were for my loss. One person told me to strive to be like my dad, and one person told me to write down all the advice dad gave me through the years. One person even told me that I should take his place as greeter at his church. I wanted to say “I’m not going to try to take my dad’s place” but I ended up saying, we’ll see and maybe… I saw people that I didn’t know; most were people that went to their church. There were lots of extended family, and distant cousins. After it was all over and most of the people had left, mom came and told us she was ready to go. Mike and I gathered ourselves together and took her home. Once there, yet again, I discovered my sisters were nowhere around. One sister went to see her mother-in-law, and the other sister went home. I know they both were dealing with their grief in their on way. It's ok and I understand I just hope they both can get through it.
I proceeded to pull food out of the fridge. I heated up stuff and laid plates on the table. It ended up only being mom, grandma, Mike and me, as usual… The one thing I felt good about was how we were actually eating out of real plates and not paper plates. We had been using paper plates for four months. It started to feel like a new normal. While eating, I noticed mom’s actions and her current mood. She seemed to be handling everything ok. I felt ok at that point too. We stayed awhile and then around 10 or so we left to go home. I didn’t want to leave mom, and it hurt me that I did. I know I could have gone back and spent the night, and I asked, and she not too. Once we got home I just wanted to go to bed. I had been up since 3:30 that morning and I was dog tired.
The next morning we got up and headed over to mom’s for the grave side service. Mom, Mike and I rode together in mom’s car. We ended up being a few minutes late for the service. I guess we just let time get away from us. There weren’t that many people there, but the ones that were there were mainly family. A few of my friend were there, and Penny and Meredith were there. It was a short beautiful service. We got up and hugged and talked to a lot of people. Dad’s vault lid was beautiful. It had two men in a boat. They were fishing with colorful fish beneath them. Below the picture it said “Gone Fishing”. I felt very sad and I felt a sharp pain of finality.
Once we left to go back to moms, we began setting up the kitchen area for the ridiculous amount of food that was on its way. I had no idea just how much food there would be. All of dad’s brothers and sisters were there and all of dad’s children were there. We sat up the food area and prepared to eat. Mom, Brittany, Teresa, Michael, Debbie, Me, and Tori sat at the round dining table and ate. Afterwards I showed Debbie and Teresa dad’s hospital papers. It showed the actual procedure of his operation and diagnosis. We discovered that what he had was hereditary and I left that thought with them and moved on into the living room.
I won’t go into all the feelings that I was having on this particular day, but I will say after we cleaned up and after both my sisters left, I suddenly felt the weight of mom’s fragility on my shoulders. I stayed and Mike went home to do a few things around the house. It was jus t mom, grandma and me now. We all three took a nap. Then we got up and went to see dad’s grave. It was difficult for me to see. I kept having waves of emotion that I couldn’t keep down. Then we headed back over to moms where mom, grandma and I decided to plant the three Hydrangeas and the One Azalea that was part of dad’s funeral. Once we did that, one of my sisters decided to come back over for a while. Mom, grandma and I ate dinner and then cleaned up and then my sister brought me home. It was after 9 when I got home. So even though I had been with mom all day, I cried for having to leave her.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Dad
I have so many things that I want to say about my dad, but know I can only say so much. He was a multi-faceted person. He was like an onion in that he had so many different layers of wonderful and unique qualities that you just had to get to know him to uncover. Obviously dad was a gentle, soft spoken man. He was a good listener and he always put great thought behind each word that he spoke. You always knew he was listening to you as you talked to him. You could just look at him and see that he was absorbing your words, and then when you finished talking you would always have a sense of anticipation as to what his response would be. He always gave the best advice in that he never just gave you the answer you wanted to hear. He was true to his convictions and to his experience with life.
Dad was the man that if you were hanging at the end of your rope and on the verge of falling on your face, you could simply call upon him and know that he’d do everything in his power to keep you from falling. If you did fall he’d pick you up and he’d help you find your footing in life once more. You knew that he wouldn’t be judgmental or hard on you. He’d just offer you compassion and understanding.
Dad had a wealth of knowledge on every subject from nature, to fishing and hunting, to woodworking, cooking, metal smith and gardening. His constant desire to learn and do was amazing. He was so full of ideas and he wanted to do so many things. He loved to work with his hands and he appreciated nothing more than a good mechanical problem that begged to be solved. He could come up with some of the most ingenious solutions. That’s one of the things that I’ll miss the most about dad. You could always count on him to have an answer for something you were at a loss about.
Dad loved his family; he loved his friends, and anyone that just happened to grace the surface of his life. He worked with diligence and determination. He had this way about him that wasn’t necessarily one of doing a job perfectly, but doing the best he could, and he always pushed that in everything he did. If you ever had the opportunity to work with dad or help him on a project, he would guide you along in such a way that would allow you to leave the task with better knowledge of what you had done. He was a good teacher, and a good companion to have in life.
Even when dad was going through the first stages of his illness, he persevered. Between going back and forth to the doctor and having tests run, he would push himself through his pain and discomfort to continue his work and doing the things he enjoyed. One thing that stands out in my mind was how he worked on his creek boat. He had a modification that he wanted to do so that he could use an electric motor with foot petals to steer the boat. He successfully did that and with such excitement he enjoyed sharing how he did it. He took great pleasure in getting to spend what time he could with his boat on the river. We spent early spring through midsummer fishing in his favorite places. He would call me on his good days and want to go to fishing, and he did it in such a way that I was clueless that he was as sick as he was. I knew that he had some health issues, but not what it ended up being. We’d get up early in the morning and load up the boat and the trailer and head out. He’d have such anticipation and excitement that you just would never know that he wasn’t doing well physically. Even in his pain he never complained and he would go about doing things the way he always did and he’d see each task through til the end. You could still count on dad even when he was going through the worst.
What was amazing to me was how dad micro-managed his care from day one after his diagnosis. When he became bedridden he would look at every aspect of what was happening to him and he would get past the hurdles of it. He made it easy on us, his caretakers, by giving us guidance when he saw we needed it. When he would see us wrestling with a task, he’d stop us midway through and he’d walk us through it. The next time we did that same task it would be easy and efficiently done because of his earlier guidance. Throughout the entirety of this dad always had a grace about him and he could teach you things without you even knowing it. It was a great pleasure helping dad and no matter who it was that was helping him through his illness, he always had that gentleness about him, that warm smile of appreciation.
His final lesson in life, at least to me, and hopefully everyone that knew him, was how to properly live your life and then leave when it was time. He never struggled, never complained, he always greeted people with that same welcoming smile and open spirit. He accepted everything with grace and he appreciated every simple thing that was done for him. He left us knowing that we were ready and that we’d be ok in a life without him.
Dad was the man that if you were hanging at the end of your rope and on the verge of falling on your face, you could simply call upon him and know that he’d do everything in his power to keep you from falling. If you did fall he’d pick you up and he’d help you find your footing in life once more. You knew that he wouldn’t be judgmental or hard on you. He’d just offer you compassion and understanding.
Dad had a wealth of knowledge on every subject from nature, to fishing and hunting, to woodworking, cooking, metal smith and gardening. His constant desire to learn and do was amazing. He was so full of ideas and he wanted to do so many things. He loved to work with his hands and he appreciated nothing more than a good mechanical problem that begged to be solved. He could come up with some of the most ingenious solutions. That’s one of the things that I’ll miss the most about dad. You could always count on him to have an answer for something you were at a loss about.
Dad loved his family; he loved his friends, and anyone that just happened to grace the surface of his life. He worked with diligence and determination. He had this way about him that wasn’t necessarily one of doing a job perfectly, but doing the best he could, and he always pushed that in everything he did. If you ever had the opportunity to work with dad or help him on a project, he would guide you along in such a way that would allow you to leave the task with better knowledge of what you had done. He was a good teacher, and a good companion to have in life.
Even when dad was going through the first stages of his illness, he persevered. Between going back and forth to the doctor and having tests run, he would push himself through his pain and discomfort to continue his work and doing the things he enjoyed. One thing that stands out in my mind was how he worked on his creek boat. He had a modification that he wanted to do so that he could use an electric motor with foot petals to steer the boat. He successfully did that and with such excitement he enjoyed sharing how he did it. He took great pleasure in getting to spend what time he could with his boat on the river. We spent early spring through midsummer fishing in his favorite places. He would call me on his good days and want to go to fishing, and he did it in such a way that I was clueless that he was as sick as he was. I knew that he had some health issues, but not what it ended up being. We’d get up early in the morning and load up the boat and the trailer and head out. He’d have such anticipation and excitement that you just would never know that he wasn’t doing well physically. Even in his pain he never complained and he would go about doing things the way he always did and he’d see each task through til the end. You could still count on dad even when he was going through the worst.
What was amazing to me was how dad micro-managed his care from day one after his diagnosis. When he became bedridden he would look at every aspect of what was happening to him and he would get past the hurdles of it. He made it easy on us, his caretakers, by giving us guidance when he saw we needed it. When he would see us wrestling with a task, he’d stop us midway through and he’d walk us through it. The next time we did that same task it would be easy and efficiently done because of his earlier guidance. Throughout the entirety of this dad always had a grace about him and he could teach you things without you even knowing it. It was a great pleasure helping dad and no matter who it was that was helping him through his illness, he always had that gentleness about him, that warm smile of appreciation.
His final lesson in life, at least to me, and hopefully everyone that knew him, was how to properly live your life and then leave when it was time. He never struggled, never complained, he always greeted people with that same welcoming smile and open spirit. He accepted everything with grace and he appreciated every simple thing that was done for him. He left us knowing that we were ready and that we’d be ok in a life without him.
The Days After...
Sunday, after I had gotten the call that dad had passed; I spent the morning with my family at mom and dad’s. Around 1 I decided to go home and get lunch and drop Mike off at the house. On the way back to mom and Dad’s I started crying and couldn’t seem to stop. When I got to moms my sisters were there with my grandmother and my mom. I went straight to the bathroom because I don’t like for people to see me cry. I don’t like to be consoled or touched when I’m grieving. I don’t know why, but my nerves seem to be on the edge of my skin, and I recoil. I sat in the computer room and continued to try to gather myself back together, but just had a hard time of it. I knew that I couldn’t go into the living room at all because of that hospice bed, so I decided to take it apart and drag it outside under the carport. So my two sisters and I did just that. We put the furniture back the way it use to be and we all felt better for it. As the day drug on and people started coming to visit, things started getting easier. My sister Teresa spent the night, and I reluctantly went home around 9.
Monday was a completely different day. I had slept pretty well and I managed to go about my routine of coffee and dog walking. I then headed over to moms. When I got there my sister Teresa was there with my mom and my grandma. We gathered up dad’s photos and headed off to breakfast at Shoney’s and then went to the funeral home. I sort of had a moment of angry outburst, but it was just that, a short lived lashing out. It was over and I apologized for it afterwards. Then we went and picked out dad’s flowers.
When we got back I decided to get dad’s John Deere riding mower out. I had been hesitant because that was his and he always took the best care of it and I only used it once. I was afraid of how it would make me feel. I was right about that. When I got it out of the barn I couldn’t figure out how to operate it properly and my first thought was to ask dad. I cried because of the obvious. I consulted the manual instead. I worked for a few hours cutting grass to stay busy and then when I finished I went in and showered.
The rest of the day was spent receiving visitors and way too much food. My emotions seemed to be leveled out and I was ok.
I am now overwhelmed with worry for mom. I don’t want her to be alone and I don’t want my grandmother to leave and go back home to Virginia. Mom told me before I went home last night that she was going to have to be alone sometime. I told her that I was having a hard time visualizing that. I know she will be ok eventually, but I have a sick feeling in my stomach for how she will be feeling those first few nights.
Monday was a completely different day. I had slept pretty well and I managed to go about my routine of coffee and dog walking. I then headed over to moms. When I got there my sister Teresa was there with my mom and my grandma. We gathered up dad’s photos and headed off to breakfast at Shoney’s and then went to the funeral home. I sort of had a moment of angry outburst, but it was just that, a short lived lashing out. It was over and I apologized for it afterwards. Then we went and picked out dad’s flowers.
When we got back I decided to get dad’s John Deere riding mower out. I had been hesitant because that was his and he always took the best care of it and I only used it once. I was afraid of how it would make me feel. I was right about that. When I got it out of the barn I couldn’t figure out how to operate it properly and my first thought was to ask dad. I cried because of the obvious. I consulted the manual instead. I worked for a few hours cutting grass to stay busy and then when I finished I went in and showered.
The rest of the day was spent receiving visitors and way too much food. My emotions seemed to be leveled out and I was ok.
I am now overwhelmed with worry for mom. I don’t want her to be alone and I don’t want my grandmother to leave and go back home to Virginia. Mom told me before I went home last night that she was going to have to be alone sometime. I told her that I was having a hard time visualizing that. I know she will be ok eventually, but I have a sick feeling in my stomach for how she will be feeling those first few nights.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Dad's Passing
So I got up this morning, drank my coffee and stayed in the guest bedroom while I blogged my earlier posting. I peeked in at daddy to see if he needed anything briefly and noticed he was still sleeping. Mom was asleep on the couch, so I didn't disturb them. After I blogged, I decided to go in and check on dad. He looked up at me and I asked him if he was ok. He mouthed something to me and I couldn't understand him, so I he asked for something to write on. He wanted me to change his Depends. I didn't wake mom, I let her sleep. I went through the process of cutting them off of him and he was able to roll over for me just enough to clean him up. He must have been very uncomfortable because he asked for skin cream. After I did that and changed the padding he was laying on, I had to remove his pj top. It was long sleeve, and it was very difficult to get off of him, but we did it the same way we always did it. He'd reach his arms up and grab onto the trapeze bar above his bed, but this time i had to place his hands around the bar. His skin was very cold and clammy and I had a difficult time getting the new pj top on. I talked to him the whole time I was doing it. I was very gentle in my tone and reassuring. I had him good to go and comfortable in no time. After I got him settled in I went to my bedroom there and fell to pieces. It was a very difficult thing to do. After everyone got up I went to Bojangles with my aunt to get breakfast for everyone. Mom, grandma, my aunt, and I sat around and had Easter breakfast. After I was done I asked mom when she thought I should go home to get another change of clothes, she said anytime. So I decided to go ahead and go. I went in and squeezed dad's knee, told him I was going to go get some clothes and that I'd be right back. I told him I loved him and he smiled. As soon as I got to my house and sat my things on the kitchen table the phone rang. Dad had died. I had just gotten off the phone with my sister prior to finding out dad had died. I told her that I hoped dad passed while I wasn't there.
So when I got back mom had already called hospice, and they were on the way. I waited til she showed up and then I went to my grandfathers to tell him bout dad passing. After Hospice came, Parrish's Funeral came out to get dad. I watched for them and waited with dad. It was a hard experience, but i'm glad I got to experience it.
As far as how I feel, I'm fine. I am so happy that my last act with dad was one of compassion and love.
So when I got back mom had already called hospice, and they were on the way. I waited til she showed up and then I went to my grandfathers to tell him bout dad passing. After Hospice came, Parrish's Funeral came out to get dad. I watched for them and waited with dad. It was a hard experience, but i'm glad I got to experience it.
As far as how I feel, I'm fine. I am so happy that my last act with dad was one of compassion and love.
So yesterday dad's entire family, brothers and sisters, favorite uncle and mother, were all here. They all sat in the living room with him and dad just smiled the whole time. He doesn't say much anymore, and he's finally given in to morphine drops. He's in pain with his stomach, which I'm assuming is the cancer. He has begun to lose control of his bowels, which suprised us all because he has an Ileostomy. The hospice nurse said that is because of his body breaking down.
There was a moment yesterday when I was in there with him by myself with my uncle and dad called me over to his bedside. I went to him, and he suddenly made this face like he was trying to cough and then he let out a high pitched cry. It hit me hard and my uncle got up and went out. I just stood there, frozen. I didn't ask if he was ok, I just rubbed his knee. When he was able to whisper he simply told me to sit down. I just watched him, and he made this motion like he wanted to throw up, and his face contorted. I didn't know what to do, I was alone with him. I got back up and he shook his head and whisped for me to sit back down. I thought he was dying. I waited and felt like if he dies, what will people think if they walk in and see me sitting here on the couch with my legs crossed, just watching him...
So how do I feel? I feel horrible, just horrible. Not because dad is dying, but because I want him to just let go and fall off to sleep. I know he's suffering and I'm not going to be selfish and want him to stay longer.
I did something last night that I probably will never forget. I had to clean my dad up and change his Depends. That's all i'm going to say about that.
There was a moment yesterday when I was in there with him by myself with my uncle and dad called me over to his bedside. I went to him, and he suddenly made this face like he was trying to cough and then he let out a high pitched cry. It hit me hard and my uncle got up and went out. I just stood there, frozen. I didn't ask if he was ok, I just rubbed his knee. When he was able to whisper he simply told me to sit down. I just watched him, and he made this motion like he wanted to throw up, and his face contorted. I didn't know what to do, I was alone with him. I got back up and he shook his head and whisped for me to sit back down. I thought he was dying. I waited and felt like if he dies, what will people think if they walk in and see me sitting here on the couch with my legs crossed, just watching him...
So how do I feel? I feel horrible, just horrible. Not because dad is dying, but because I want him to just let go and fall off to sleep. I know he's suffering and I'm not going to be selfish and want him to stay longer.
I did something last night that I probably will never forget. I had to clean my dad up and change his Depends. That's all i'm going to say about that.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Giving Up.
Dad has shown nothing but grace in dying. He has had every opportunity to be angry and bitter and frustrated and just plain difficult, but he has been anything but that. He has been in complete control of his body. Every decision has been made by him. He has never complained about being in pain, about being uncomfortable, about anything. He has been a man of great courage with his dealings with his cancer. Everytime a problem would arise he’d come up with a solution. Dad has been able to show me how to take care of him in ways that I would not have been able to figure out on my own. He has walked me through every single problem and because of that I have been able to make him more comfortable. Dad would be the man to go through hell with, he’d keep his cool and he’d get you through it. He has literally helped us all through this process of his dying. He has gotten us all through it whether he knows it or not.
Dad has decided to end his Ensure regime. He’s been sleeping an awful lot today and he has given up. It is now a matter of time and I can feel the end coming soon.
Dad has decided to end his Ensure regime. He’s been sleeping an awful lot today and he has given up. It is now a matter of time and I can feel the end coming soon.
Monday, March 29, 2010
The Dynamics of Feeling
Dad had a hard night last night. Apparently since he isn’t eating anymore and he’s started watering down his Ensure he can’t lay flat because the liquid in his stomach backs up into his esophagus. He’s trying to figure out how to deal with that. He’s going to try to drink an Ensure that isn’t watered down. Hopefully that will help him.
Sundays are interesting. They are a time when I get to be alone with dad, but it’s also a time where I am put in a position to watch preaching on TV. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I would imagine it makes dad feel good to see me “actively” listening to what is being said. I do that for him, but once he’s shuffled off, I’ll go back to “out of sight, out of mind”.
How do I feel when I’m with dad? I’m not sure. It’s strange that when I’m in the “situation” with dad I’m not feeling much. I guess I’ve put insulation caps on the ends of my nerves that prevent me from feeling much when I’m there. I just sort of go about my time with him as if it’s just another day. Really it is, you can’t visit with dad and be all sad and twisted externally. You have to treat him as if it’s all going to be alright. So that’s what I do. I try not to look too deeply at him and wonder what he’s thinking or feeling. That usually gets me all stirred up inside. I also have a tendency to glance over at him from time to time to make sure he’s still with us… I’ve noticed mom does the same thing. When I’m saying goodbye to him I have to resist the urge to say “goodbye” in such a way that might cause me to fall apart. I haven’t leaned over and kissed him on his forehead yet like most people do. I usually just gently squeeze his knee and rub his foot. I’ll do the forehead thing when it’s merited, just not now… When I leave, it usually doesn’t hit me till I get home. Then it comes to me in a form of panic. My chest will tighten, and my breathing becomes shallow. I guess the insulation caps twist off and leave my nerves raw and frayed. I’m usually a bear to be around when I’m like that. I just tend to close the door and keep to myself till it passes. I don’t like for people to see me cry, it’s just not something I’m comfortable with. So you can imagine the dread I am feeling when it comes time to stand at the front during visitation after dad’s funeral. That’s like torture to me. Why do they do that? The visitation part…
Sundays are interesting. They are a time when I get to be alone with dad, but it’s also a time where I am put in a position to watch preaching on TV. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I would imagine it makes dad feel good to see me “actively” listening to what is being said. I do that for him, but once he’s shuffled off, I’ll go back to “out of sight, out of mind”.
How do I feel when I’m with dad? I’m not sure. It’s strange that when I’m in the “situation” with dad I’m not feeling much. I guess I’ve put insulation caps on the ends of my nerves that prevent me from feeling much when I’m there. I just sort of go about my time with him as if it’s just another day. Really it is, you can’t visit with dad and be all sad and twisted externally. You have to treat him as if it’s all going to be alright. So that’s what I do. I try not to look too deeply at him and wonder what he’s thinking or feeling. That usually gets me all stirred up inside. I also have a tendency to glance over at him from time to time to make sure he’s still with us… I’ve noticed mom does the same thing. When I’m saying goodbye to him I have to resist the urge to say “goodbye” in such a way that might cause me to fall apart. I haven’t leaned over and kissed him on his forehead yet like most people do. I usually just gently squeeze his knee and rub his foot. I’ll do the forehead thing when it’s merited, just not now… When I leave, it usually doesn’t hit me till I get home. Then it comes to me in a form of panic. My chest will tighten, and my breathing becomes shallow. I guess the insulation caps twist off and leave my nerves raw and frayed. I’m usually a bear to be around when I’m like that. I just tend to close the door and keep to myself till it passes. I don’t like for people to see me cry, it’s just not something I’m comfortable with. So you can imagine the dread I am feeling when it comes time to stand at the front during visitation after dad’s funeral. That’s like torture to me. Why do they do that? The visitation part…
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Is It Time For The Train?
Dad needed a hand bell to ring when he needs help. He doesn’t have the voice to call out anymore, and the panic button on the monitor doesn’t seem to work, or mom is just too asleep to hear it… I found one at an antique shop in Selma. It’s loud, and I think dad should have no problem waking up the house.
I had dinner over there yesterday. Then we watched The Blind Side. I’ve seen it 3 times now, and I cry each time. Dad seemed to enjoy it.
He has congestion in his chest and he struggles to get it up and out. He basically can’t at this point. He looks so close to death. His skin is purplish, and his body is feeling more pain. He refuses to take morphine, he wants to be completely cognitive. He's skeletal at this point. He's nothing more than a human form at it's most base level. I can't believe that he has gotten to this point. Now dad has become an image I will always have of dying.
It was very difficult staying over there yesterday evening. It just seemed like dad is in the process of trying to die. He just lies in his bed and he’ll rest his hands and arms in a cross shape across his chest. He closes his eyes and I try so hard to see through him, but I can’t. I can’t for the life of me figure out what he’s thinking, what he needs, if I can help him in anyway and it frustrates me. I don’t ever want to go through this again. I can’t do this again, I hope that everyone else in my life lives longer than me so that I don’t have to see this slow agonizing decent into death. You just don’t realize how vicious cancer is till you watch someone die from it.
I came home very agitated and ill last night. I just feel so helpless that I can’t do anything but watch my dad die. I am lost in my thoughts, this fog of despair.
I had dinner over there yesterday. Then we watched The Blind Side. I’ve seen it 3 times now, and I cry each time. Dad seemed to enjoy it.
He has congestion in his chest and he struggles to get it up and out. He basically can’t at this point. He looks so close to death. His skin is purplish, and his body is feeling more pain. He refuses to take morphine, he wants to be completely cognitive. He's skeletal at this point. He's nothing more than a human form at it's most base level. I can't believe that he has gotten to this point. Now dad has become an image I will always have of dying.
It was very difficult staying over there yesterday evening. It just seemed like dad is in the process of trying to die. He just lies in his bed and he’ll rest his hands and arms in a cross shape across his chest. He closes his eyes and I try so hard to see through him, but I can’t. I can’t for the life of me figure out what he’s thinking, what he needs, if I can help him in anyway and it frustrates me. I don’t ever want to go through this again. I can’t do this again, I hope that everyone else in my life lives longer than me so that I don’t have to see this slow agonizing decent into death. You just don’t realize how vicious cancer is till you watch someone die from it.
I came home very agitated and ill last night. I just feel so helpless that I can’t do anything but watch my dad die. I am lost in my thoughts, this fog of despair.
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