Daddio and I 1998
It's funny, this is the first year that this week snuck up on me in 6 years. Goodness, 6 years since I had to say goodbye. That within itself is crazy to think about. I was so thankful over the weekend that Dad visited me in my dream. It had been a little while since he had done so and I was more than happy to hear his voice and see that smile of his. Some times I can still hear him say my name when I go on my early morning walks and it makes me smile every single time. I miss the sound of his voice so much.
I still find myself wondering "What if" more times than not. What if he was here would he still make me my favorite chocolate chip pancakes or waffles on the weekends? Would he be my movie partner? Would I still make fun of his terrible singing in the car? Its hard not to think what if when I would be in living in the same state as him. Life is so very precious and I was just a little to late in moving back home.
No matter how hard I try not to re-live that horrible week in 2007 I relive it every damn year around this time and it pisses me off to no end. I remember the emails and phone calls exchanged leading up to when he was admitted to the hospital as if it were yesterday. The horrible call from my cousin letting me know that my Dad was sick and then the call the next morning from the nurse telling me if it were her Dad she would be on the next flight out. I remember leaving work after getting that call and running. My legs could not go fast enough...The 20 min subway ride home felt like an eternity as did the 12 flights of stairs I ran up to my apartment. I ran so far in heals and freezing cold weather that day, and yet I did not feel a thing. I burst into my NY apt and dropped to the ground screaming. I was experiencing the worst nightmare a daughter or any kid could experience. I was going to lose a parent. My Dad.
I refused to accept that my Dad was going to die and after I picked myself off the ground, packed and rushed to the airport to take the next flight out to AZ, I knew I was going to have to put my game face on. Not only for Dad but for when I faced his side of the family that I had stopped talking to years before. Ugh. I got into AZ at 9:30 PM and my friend took me right to the hospital. ICU is just scary, there is no way around that. I feel it is the last stop on Earth (if sick or hurt) before God decides whether it is time to make the journey to Heaven or not. I walked into Dads room and said hello to my grandparents never taking my eyes off my Dad. Goodness, the tubes. There were so many machines. I was on a mission to make sure he knew I was there and would not leave him (not even for the restroom). My grandparents did the opposite. They left him and I was more than okay with that. I held his hand so so tight talking to him every chance I could. The nurse came in every couple of hours to take him off the sedation to see if he could breathe on his own. Oh the coughing was horrible every time she would do this. Each cough covering his oxygen mask with more blood. I could not focus on that though and had to try and wake him up with the nurse. I would tell him I was there and that he needed to open his eyes. He squeezed my hand and tried with everything he had to open his eyes for me but couldn't. He tried so hard and I could see him trying... That was the last time I would ever feel him squeeze my hand for as long as I live. :(
My sisters flew in the next day and I could not have been any more thankful to have my partners by my side. It would take all 3 of my Dad's girls to get him through this. That I knew. We sang, laughed and cried trying everything in our power to wake him up. We shared our favorite stories with Dad and every now and again we would see his eyebrows move. Goodness, what a great sign. He could hear us! Unfortunately, his progress was deteriorating quicker than we were all hoping. I think my two sisters were taking a brake when the oncologist came in. He went over the X-rays with me. My poor dad. His entire chest was covered with a white haze. The cancer was winning the fight. I remember grabbing Dad's hand as soon as the Doctor left the room and in the most stern voice possible I said: "Dad, this is it. You have got to fight with every thing you have or the cancer is going to win! Come on!!!"
It was time for his daily bath and in return my sisters and I had to face the family (yuck) and Doctors to determine the next step. We sat in a circle. All his brothers and one sister along with his mom and dad. The options: Radiation and a blood transfusion or nothing. His family chose nothing as they did not believe in poisoning the body and I chose Radiation. Hell, I was going to be my Dad's last chance if it killed me. In return, my Grandfather screamed in my face that I was not the beneficiary and that it was not my call. I lost my last bit of hope right at that moment. He was gone and I was helpless. He would be taken off life support the next day. How in the world do you prepare yourself for that? You don't.
My sisters and I spent our last night sat next to Dads side. This time around we didn't have much to say. I think we all just wanted to be in his presence. I wiped the blood off his face that he would cough up from time to time (it had gotten a lot worse from the first day I was there) with a cold wash cloth and made sure his lips had plenty of chap stick on them. The stupid tube down his throat made them so very dry. His poor hands. They had become so hard and swollen and no longer felt the way they felt the first day I got to him and held them. I continued to moved his fingers as if he might wake up and squeeze my hand. I will never forget the nurse who spent a majority of the time that week with us. She was amazing. It was the same nurse who called me the first day telling me to come to AZ as soon as possible and the same nurse who would take the time to explain anything we did not understand. She was an angel and didn't even realize it. That last evening she sat and cried with us. There was nothing more to say and she knew that.
Dads final day was just as awful as I thought it would be. The nurse explained to us all how the process would work and how it could take awhile before Dad would take his last breath. The sounds of the machines along with my Dad coughing was horrible. I laid my head on Dad's chest listening to his heart as got it slower and slower until it no longer had a beat. Every one else said a prayer with the priest but I was mesmerized at how quick my Dad became cold and hard. He was gone and my life would forever be changed. The visions I had of my Dad walking me down the aisle at my wedding or holding my first born was gone. I would never be able to hug and squeeze my Dad so hard until he made a funny noise and we'd laugh. There were so many "no mores" suddenly and yet I still deal with that today.
I have all our emails we wrote to one another until his last week alive saved. I would like to make a book of these emails some day. I find myself reading them every now and again because I feel as if he is still here for a brief second when I do. My biggest fear is that one day I am going to forget. Forget the sound of his voice, or the way he hugged me. It scares the hell out of me because all I have left are memories and if I am lucky enough to have him visit me in my dreams.
I'll leave you with one of the last emails Dad wrote to me. I will forever cherish this email.
Andrea...
I am hoping that I can someday make a trip back to New York
and visit you. Maybe this coming spring (when it is not to cold or hot) I
will do that and you can show me around NY. My two cents to you as your
father is that it never matters where you are just as long as you are always happy.
Remember Andrea just because you do not hear from me for a while doesn't
mean I am not always thinking about you.
Love You,mean I am not always thinking about you.
Dad
This is the last photo we took together. April 2007
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