death is suppose to be something so natural, something people encounter everyday...but no one is ever prepared. even when you know it's going to happen your whole life.
when my father died i felt numb. it was so sad and everyone around me was crying...i was too but i couldnt feel it. he stared only at me in a room full of people with a tube in his throat. i held his hand, they were huge and his fingers were flat from slamming them in so many doors by accident. his skin felt cold on the outside but warm inside deep in the muscle.
they had removed the breathing tube and he breathed on his own for over 10 minutes and i kept thinking, breath dad...just breath and be better...come home. but his breaths became more dense as he attempted to lift his head to look around the room, then his gazed was fixed back at me who was by his right side. i tightened my grip on his hand and it felt like he did too. when his pupils began to dialate a sense of wonder spread over his face and i told him i loved him and to not go too far from me. he slipped away and he was gone.
to me death isnt just an event that takes place, it could almost be explained as an object that clings to those left without. the only way i knew how to cope was to stay busy, to keep my hands at a constant flow of activity. otherwise it would find me in an idle state and consume me like a dark blanket, enveloping all the saddness in a close proximity. even now, almost 3 years later, it still finds me.
losing a parent is losing all security you have in yourself, those around you, and eveything that has to do with anything. it pushes you ino a state of questioning.
my father was sick his whole life with something. it's almost as if he collected illnesses like stamps...COPD, emphysema, neurofibromatosis, colon cancer, chronic bronchitis, constant heart attacks i had to supress with nitroglycerin pills. he would get pneumonia, or the flu and i would hold my breath until he lived through it. and between all of that he would pass multiple kidney stones. he was always in and out of the hospital and i knew the VA like the back of my hand...but he lived through it all. even through a collapsed lung which eventually they had to take parts of his lungs out. he was strong for such a little guy and he hated knowing that i was caring for him
and in dealing with all that he was there for me. he would come to pick me up at 3 am because my mother was drunk and violent. even when i was in my rebellious stage, he fought for me not to go to juvenile detention. when i was 16 and custody of me was given to the state because of my mother's stupidity and his health, he still drove the 40 minutes every tuesday and thurday to come see me, then again on friday to take me home for a home visit. i hated those assholes for making him feel unable to care for his daughter.
god i miss him. he had such a great sense of humor. he would always always always ask me if i was ok and sometimes it would irritate me because he asked so much. once i snapped at him for asking and i imdiately felt bad but didnt want to say so. he went to take a bath and when he got out i went in to use the bathroom. he had taken malaura's bathtub letters and spelled out: R U OK? on the bathtub wall. we laughed for days about it.
my mom called this morning saying my grandfather was sick. i asked if he was ok and she said no. i asked what was happening and she said, my father's sick stacy! i asked if she was ok and then she hung up. i hope papa is ok, and i hope she's ok...
i miss my dad...
when my father died i felt numb. it was so sad and everyone around me was crying...i was too but i couldnt feel it. he stared only at me in a room full of people with a tube in his throat. i held his hand, they were huge and his fingers were flat from slamming them in so many doors by accident. his skin felt cold on the outside but warm inside deep in the muscle.
they had removed the breathing tube and he breathed on his own for over 10 minutes and i kept thinking, breath dad...just breath and be better...come home. but his breaths became more dense as he attempted to lift his head to look around the room, then his gazed was fixed back at me who was by his right side. i tightened my grip on his hand and it felt like he did too. when his pupils began to dialate a sense of wonder spread over his face and i told him i loved him and to not go too far from me. he slipped away and he was gone.
to me death isnt just an event that takes place, it could almost be explained as an object that clings to those left without. the only way i knew how to cope was to stay busy, to keep my hands at a constant flow of activity. otherwise it would find me in an idle state and consume me like a dark blanket, enveloping all the saddness in a close proximity. even now, almost 3 years later, it still finds me.
losing a parent is losing all security you have in yourself, those around you, and eveything that has to do with anything. it pushes you ino a state of questioning.
my father was sick his whole life with something. it's almost as if he collected illnesses like stamps...COPD, emphysema, neurofibromatosis, colon cancer, chronic bronchitis, constant heart attacks i had to supress with nitroglycerin pills. he would get pneumonia, or the flu and i would hold my breath until he lived through it. and between all of that he would pass multiple kidney stones. he was always in and out of the hospital and i knew the VA like the back of my hand...but he lived through it all. even through a collapsed lung which eventually they had to take parts of his lungs out. he was strong for such a little guy and he hated knowing that i was caring for him
and in dealing with all that he was there for me. he would come to pick me up at 3 am because my mother was drunk and violent. even when i was in my rebellious stage, he fought for me not to go to juvenile detention. when i was 16 and custody of me was given to the state because of my mother's stupidity and his health, he still drove the 40 minutes every tuesday and thurday to come see me, then again on friday to take me home for a home visit. i hated those assholes for making him feel unable to care for his daughter.
god i miss him. he had such a great sense of humor. he would always always always ask me if i was ok and sometimes it would irritate me because he asked so much. once i snapped at him for asking and i imdiately felt bad but didnt want to say so. he went to take a bath and when he got out i went in to use the bathroom. he had taken malaura's bathtub letters and spelled out: R U OK? on the bathtub wall. we laughed for days about it.
my mom called this morning saying my grandfather was sick. i asked if he was ok and she said no. i asked what was happening and she said, my father's sick stacy! i asked if she was ok and then she hung up. i hope papa is ok, and i hope she's ok...
i miss my dad...
