A Daughters Love.. Ending. 7

Dad did indeed get moved into a nursing home. He remained drugged up and one night I got a call that he had been rushed to the hospital. We all climbed into the car and rushed to the hospital to find Dad looking as if he was almost dead. He was so very pale, his oxygen sats were not good, there just wasn’t an ounce of fat left on his body. My stepmom and I had long ago discussed that while VA had fucked up by putting him on a vent, that we couldn’t just pull him off and watch him gasp for air like a fish out of water, but we would let nature take it’s course and try to honor his DNR. I stood on one side of the bed holding his hand, my stepmom stood by the other. We were prepared to let him go and we were saying our good-byes when my Uncle came in. He decided we were just killing him because we refused treatment for him. He focused his anger on me, which was fine my stepmom didn’t need his shit and I wasn’t going to take his shit, called me a heartless murdering bitch. I took a deep calming breath and asked him to leave the room, nicely. He said he wasn’t going to leave the room to let me go ahead and murder his brother. He leaned over my dad and started putting his finger in my face and shaking it at me as he called me names. I took another calming breath, fuck who am I kidding we all know I didn’t do that, I leaned right into his finger and told him if he didn’t knock it the fuck off I was going to break that fuckin finger right off and shove it straight up his ass. I told him I wasn’t going to lean over my dying father and argue this point with him and to get the fuck out right now. He told me I would have to bodily remove him because he wasn’t going to leave. I replied that wasn’t a fuckin problem at all, patted Dads hand, walked out of the room and got a nurse and told her to get security to remove my uncle from the room that he wasn’t welcome there. Funny thing hospital rules, daughter trumps brother, FUCK YOU TOM! The hospital assigned him a room so we could sit the night with him and we walked down the hall with him, me holding the oxygen tank because there was no room for it. Dad suddenly sat straight up in bed and I almost dropped the tank. We got him up to the room and he was suddenly perking up. We had been warned about this, that it wasn’t a good sign, a lot of terminal patients perk up right before the end so they can say their good-byes. We got him situated in bed and just started talking to him. I told him this was a bit dramatic on his part to get us all to visit him at once and he laughed. His eyes lit up and he was my Daddy again. He gave me a hug and I somehow managed not to cry. Suddenly people started filing into the room and his eyes got bigger and bigger with each person that crowded in. He sat on the edge of the bed with his face pressed against my stepmoms chest. The extended family that thought it was their right to bring in their girlfriends whom he had never met saw nothing wrong with his behavior. Those of us that really spent time with Dad saw this as the start of panic which wasn’t something he needed. I am never one to mince words so I tapped Dad on the shoulder to get his attention and said, “I love you and I will see you tommorrow. I know there are too many fuckin people in here for you but some people are just assholes and only give a shit about themselves.” I leaned over and gave him a kiss and he kissed me back and gave me a nod to show he understood and mouthed “Love you, Thank you”. Had he died that night, I still wouldn’t have regretted leaving.

He got moved back to the nursing home and put on the Hospice side. I went daily, bought him his favorite picture of me and my husband and kids to put on top of his TV where he could see it. I hung an Eeyore from his IV Pole so whenever he looked up to see what was attached to him he would see that and be reminded of me. He made no progress forward but he made no steps backwards. We were all in a waiting pattern for that phone call. So when my phone rang with Dads ringtone around the middle to end of September I fully expected it to be his Hospice nurse telling me that Dad had passed. Instead I got a horse voice saying my name. I almost pissed myself as I tore out my back door where it was quieter and said, “Dad?” We talked for almost an hour that night. Me trying not to cry as I filled Dad in on the months that had passed. He had no memory of anything at all and just couldn’t understand or grasp what had happened. There were many phone calls between us when I wasn’t there at his side. I would spend hours repeating what had happened, why it happened, the names of his various infections, names of doctors, dates he was in surgery, moved to another room, his antics. I left out things that I thought would hurt him. The times he would get angry and take a swing at my stepmom or I. The times that he would say hurtful things. Those were things he didn’t need to know. His voice got stronger with each conversation. They started him learning how to walk again and with speech therapy. Everyone was amazed at his recovery. This wasn’t someone that was just making peace before he left us, this was someone on their road to recovery.

Dad came to my home for his first trip out in five months. He was wheelchair bound and couldn’t go to his own home due to an issue with stairs. I pulled out my fold out, which was right in front of the TV, cleaned my house to within an inch of it’s life and picked him up. He spent Friday night and Saturday night with me and then Sunday during the day with my Stepmom before she took him back to the nursing home to continue his rehab. I slept next to him on the fold out and listened to him breath, got him his meds when he was in pain, got him ice chips for his dry mouth. I even went so far as to let him have control of the remote and didn’t bitch once when he made me watch Golf Highlights. He got stronger during the week and the next weekend we broached Kool-aid pops and Italian Ice and watched Beverly Hillbillies and Hogans Heroes the entire weekend. The next weekend he was in a walker and I no longer had to help him into the bathroom, which was a relief to me since I was very tired of seeing my dads naked ass, we watched rented movies and he demanded more grape kool-aid pops and suckers which I happily provided. That Monday he got his Trach removed and to celebrate my stepmom and sister took him out for his first real meal in six months. He wanted to go to Outback, where all the waitresses knew him, he enjoyed himself.

October 26, 2006 I got the call that would shatter my world. I picked up my cell phone to hear, “That bastard did it.” and crying. I was confused and said, “What?” “He went to take a nap and when they went to wake him they found him dead.” “That’s not fuckin funny.” “I’m on my way there now.” “Do you want me to…” “No.. I just have to sign some papers.. We’ll.. I’ll talk to you later.” I closed the phone and I walked outside. It was cold and it was raining and I didn’t care. I opened my phone again and called my husband and said, “I need you to come home.” He asked why and I said, “Dad just died..” “I’ll be right there.. Fuck.. I’m working far away.. I’ll be there as soon as I can.. FUCK!” I just ended the call and called my best friend, she picked up her phone and I just blurted out, “I need you, Dads dead.” She asked me for no details, she just said, “Just hang on, I’ll be right there!” and hung up on me. My knees gave out on me and I just sat on the wet parking lot and I cried. I sat there for what seemed like hours and just sobbed. People passed on their way to their cars and I ignored the stares. I pulled myself to my feet and went inside and straight to the shower. I turned on the water as hot as I could stand and sat on the bottom of the tub and sobbed. I couldn’t tell my kids, I couldn’t face telling one more person, so I sat there until the water turned cold and I was all out of tears.

The rest of the night, actually the days following, are a blur. I remember my husband coming home and me telling him not to touch me because I was going to break down if he did. I remember telling him he had to tell the kids because I just couldn’t do it. I remember my friend walking through the door, dropping her bag in my dining room and taking me in her arms. I tried to shrug her off but I couldn’t do it. I stood there while she rocked me back and forth making shushing sounds and rubbing my back while I sobbed more. We went the next day to make funeral arrangements and to pick out a plot for dad. I remember the look of disbelief on the Funeral Directors face as he tried to talk us into a Funeral on Halloween. We stood our ground, we all agreed we wanted all his grandchildren, our children, to have one happy memory before the Funeral.

The wake was a surreal experience. Everything still didn’t seem real. People I hadn’t seen since I was a child filing past Dads coffin, looking at the photo board my stepmom had put together, giving us their condolences. My mom staying on the other side of the room from my stepmom. Uncles, cousins, husbands, wives, friends, children, grandchildren, all there to see Dad. Part of me couldn’t help wonder where all these people were when we were trying to get Dad off the restraints and one of us had to be with him at all times. Where were they at 4 am when I was knocking his hands away from various tubes he was trying to pull out. Where were they at noon when my stepmom was dodging swings while trying to keep him in bed. Why is it that some members of family are like roaches and only come out once everything is done and over with and there is free food to be had? I remember mom agreeing that there wasn’t a reason for her to come all the way out for the burial since it was going to be a half hour at the most and she lived over an hour away and someone would have to pick her up. I later found out that the story changed to we didn’t want her there. I listened to the Eulogy and I managed to not cry from the wake until the time they gave the family their privacy to say good bye.

I stood next to my fathers casket, carefully laid the keepsake box I got from the hospital when I lost my son, beneath his hands, I tucked a Grape Tootsie Roll pop into his pocket. I suddenly broke and leaned forward onto the side of his casket and just sobbed. Huge, loud sobs. I couldn’t be the strong one anymore, there was nobody left for me to hold together, everything had been done. I said good-bye and I walked out to my waiting car. Dad, because he was a veteran, got his gun salute, I flinched at every shot. When the final words had been said I turned and I walked away. I haven’t been back to this day.

I sometimes wish that I had been able to stand up at his service and say words for him. I guess that is what pushed me to write this. This is my Dad’s Eulogy. I couldn’t do it then and break down in front of everyone. I can sit here hidden behind this screen and this name and I can cry as I type. I could never have covered everything I have had I done it then but I now know what I would have said then, so I will close with that.

On October 26th the world lost a bit of it’s light. There will be a little less laughter. A little less snarkiness. A little more beer in the world and no shortage of grape Tootsie Roll Pops ever again. We all lost someone that meant something to us for different reasons. He was an asshole with no shortage of friends. He told me my first off colored joke and through the years I returned that favor time and time again. His memory sucked and most of you here have probably heard my voice as I finished whatever joke he had started and forgot the punchline to. To his PTSD group they lost someone that could understand their pain, could forgive them their attitudes, they lost someone that can’t be replaced. His brothers all lost something because he never once turned them down when they needed help. My stepmom lost a husband who could be a giant dick at times, there is no arguing that, but there is no arguing that he loved her either. Our kids all lost a grandfather that would take them on motorcycle rides and teach them their first word curse word because after all he couldn’t understand a damn word any of them were saying. I lost my Daddy. The man who could drive me up the wall one moment and have me laughing the next. The person who held my hand while I was in labor and told me that he told me sex was bad for me. The person that I always thought would be there no matter what because no matter what I said to him he would always love me and I would always love him. What we lost can never be replaced but Dad wouldn’t want us sitting around sobbing and carrying on. He would most definitely shove his boot up my ass if he saw me doing that. So we move on, in a slightly dimmer world, we live our lives like he did. With a smile on our face and a fuck all attitude.