||[Jan. 22nd, 2015|05:28 pm]
My dad had experienced frequent episodes of stomach issues. The most prominent being bleeds. The very first one he had, I was 8 years old and had to see him being taken down the stairs by the EMT. I was too young to understand that he almost died during that. Mom and my uncles did a good job sheltering me, but I still felt the fear early on of what would it be like to lose my parents. I immediately decided I needed to keep watch on them and be their protector of sorts.
Dad had another bad stomach episode about three years ago which accompanied a heart attack. Yet again, another time we could have lost him. I felt lucky. It was a very long drawn out experience getting him better for his heart to be repaired. He ended up having something like 3 big surgeries in one 10 hour operation. The stomach was easily fixed. They put him on Nexium. Thought that was going to be the end of it. Happily ever after!
Bullshit..I don't know if I can believe in that anymore. I try to fix the impossible even when the wall is staring me in the face. I mean, it's not like I am naive..I have very good vibes...this was a time I wasn't sure what my vibes were telling me.
My father died on January 10th, 2015 at 5:05pm in Battle Creek, Michigan. Two months of fighting kidney failure, electrolyte deficiency, pancreaitis with a mass, inflammed gallbladder, and bleeding duodenum with gangrene. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. This is everything you'd expect out of a nightmare. Two surgeries in one week...advanced technology couldn't save him. What's the point of being in this millenium if we couldn't achieve everything our elders imagined? This is probably one of the worst ways someone can die without being set on fire.
I don't know if I have developed a thicker skin, or if I somehow knew he was bound to not make it based on his stubborn ways. Even then, I still needed him and wish he could still be here. I know I had to let go someday..but not like this.
I remember watching my mom eat her lunch across the the ICU room. She looked so small and scared. I worried I wouldn't be able to take care of her if Dad didn't make it. She's spent 45 years of marriage doting on Dad. Not talking back when he was being pissy over something trivial. Tried to bring him whatever he asked for at the store. Made his phone calls for him because he lacked the patience to discuss important matters. She's pretty damn tough. She feels a major loss of what to do with her time, but she's doing okay. I don't have to take care of her as much as I thought, but I still feel so bad for her, and bad for myself that my childhood fears are coming true.
I have to face that now, I have the rest of my life to deal with my Dad's passing. It hit me last night that I wouldn't have a father for Father's day. I am a grown up, but I never stopped being their baby. For the first time in a long time I remembered who I used to be. The child they knew. It's almost like losing someone you love sets you back to a default. I don't feel anger or contempt for mankind like I did. I don't feel the anger I had toward Dad for his moods. I feel like I have a new innocence. I hope that I don't allow anyone to corrupt me for a second time. (That's a different story)
I am rambling...and anyone who has followed this journal knows I suck at being consistent and keeping regular updates. I guess I just needed this bit out of my head for now.