...Since Ive blogged or talked to anyone really other than family. These past couple months have been extremely rough and most days I question how I'm going to make it to the next. And of course it all started on my birthday. That's the last time I heard my dad's voice, well that's the last time I heard him and he sounded ok, healthy even. No wait, that was the day before my birthday, like he knew he wouldn't get the chance and called me a day early to sing happy birthday to me. On my birthday he went to the hospital for the last time. He spent most of that week in ICU, his potassium levels and a whole bunch of other levels I can't remember, were all way off. The next week the moved him off of ICU which "they don't do unless he's getting better". Yea, he didn't get better. He got worse. He went home on hospice on Thursday, August 30. I spent that night with him, slept in his bed with him, next to his frail body and listened to his raspy breathing all night. The next morning he was up and about all morning, with assistance of course. And I of course was the only one strong enough to care or him, and the only one with any medical experience to know what I was doing. So I helped him shower, go to the bathroom, all that good stuff. And continued to do so for the next 3 days. Fortunately I have an amazing husband to take care of my kids so that I could do this. Sunday dad seemed ok, he was up ALL day and I missed my kids so I made the decision to go home. And my dad...I could tell he didn't want me to. I could tell he just needed me to be there but he knew I had to go home. The last thing he said to me was "make sure you come back." and of course I was coming back. My intention was to come back that Tuesday. Unfortunately, even though I did come back, he wasn't there.
Mom had called me Monday at 5ish to tell me they'd be reading him his last rites at 7. There was just no way I could make it. I couldnt leave dinner on the stove, I needed to feel like a mom for the day, once again I decided to put my family before my dad. I know that's what he'd have wanted but I still beat myself up over it a lot. A whole lot....Anyhow that night mom called me so I could talk to him. He'd been sleeping all day so she just held the phone to his ear, and I cried, and I begged him to wait till I got back, begged him to still be there so I could see him one last time. The only sound on the other end was his labored breathing, the pain in his breath will resound in my ears for years to come. I know he was listening, I know he tried, but at 3:11am my phone rang; my mom crying saying "he's gone". It was the worst thing Id ever heard. I never thought my heart could hurt so much. I never thought I'd love my dad so much.
The funeral was that Friday in a small cemetery in the middle of no where. He has a nice little spot near a creek and he'll certainly be left alone like he wanted to be. We'll go see him soon, sometime around Thanksgiving, and I'll cry, and my kids will see me hurt, and I hate that but I want them to be there with me. If it werent for them, and my husband I would never have made it through this. My dad was one of my best friends. Losing him was losing my confidant, the person I could call when everyone in the world had pissed me off and he'd listen, and he always had a solution or something funny to say to make it better. Now all I have is a voicemail, a happy, healthy sounding voicemail from the 10th of August hoping I was having fun in Vegas. If I'm having a rough day and the world seems to be crashing down on all sides of me, I call my voicemail. Maybe that's silly and childish, but I need to be able to hear him.
It's been awhile since I've been ok and able to spend some time on my thoughts. I'm finally ready to start talking about it with more people and not just my mom or husband. I may need to post more in the next week or so about this, just to get it off my chest so bare with me.