The Death of My Father in Out in the Open

The same dishes lay sitting on the counter that were there 9 days ago. They haven’t moved. There are 7 vases of flowers sitting around my house slowly decaying. A bookbag sits next to the living room chair stuffed with dirty clothes from my multiple sleepovers with my grieving mother. My 8 year old daughter lies on the couch sick, but scared to sleep just in case she dies by going to sleep while sick, just like Grandpa.
Then here’s me. Finally, after 9 long days I pull out the computer and open up Prosebox. I am still wondering if it’s time to write about his death. Will it bring me more pain than closure? I honestly don’t know. So this is attempt number one to write about the night that my world came crashing down around me.
I am in my community theatre’s next musical play. I was so excited. We have been rehearsing since the beginning of January. We had just bought 5 tickets for my mom, dad, sister, brother in law, and brother. I had just dropped off my daughter at my parents’ house so I could go to practice. My dad hadn’t been feeling good the day before so this morning he went to the doctor. The doctor took one look at him and told him he needs to go to the hospital. They gave him a breathing treatment at the doctor and he looked so much better that the Doctor changed his mind and sent him home with a breathing treatment machine. He told him, “I’ll see you back in 2 days, but I bet you won’t even need to.”
He never made it back to that appointment.
I walked in and asked my dad how he was feeling. He answered, “terrible.” Anytime you asked my dad how he was he always answered, “Never been better.” Red flag one. I asked him is it time to go to the hospital? He looked at me but never really answered clearly. Never really said yes, but never said no. He was too proud to think he needed that. I remember thinking, “People go to the hospital for hiccups, surely he may need to go.” But I dismissed it.
I then noticed his yellow appearance. I thought maybe his gallbladder was causing him problems. That would explain the throwing up. Then I asked him if he had pain. He said his back hurt.
This short conversation replays in my head a million times. Hindsight is alwys 20/20. He had the classic symptoms. But after giving him his breathing treatment I asked him if he was feeling better. He shook his head yes and I left for practice.
When I returned home I asked my mother how he was doing. She said he went to bed. I asked her, “is it time for the hospital yet?” She said “I don’t know, is it?” We sat there awhile and she said “he’s going to the doctor on Thursday. That’s what the doctor said to do.” Then in my head the thought of, “he’s going to bed to die,” flashed through my head. I quickly dismissed it. I took my daughter home and went to bed. It was close to 10pm.
I tossed and turned. I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about my father’s death. I was thinking about what if he dies? Then at 1:41am I was staring at my phone when it rang from my mother’s number. I just knew he was in the hospital. I just KNEW IT. But the words that followed weren’t the ones I was supposed to hear.
From my sister Wendy, “We lost dad.”
From my throat I yelled, “No!” I stood up and turned around facing my bed. I repeated “NO. No. NO. NO NO.” Over and over.
My sister said, “I need you to give yourself time to calm down. Then mom needs you here. They are still working on Dad. Just get here.”
I hung up the phone. Fell to my knees. Screamed “NO” into my blankets.
Then, With every ounce of strength I had walked into my daughter’s room and woke her up. I explained to her that Grandpa was very sick and we needed to go be with Grandma. She was very sleepy and didn’t understand.
We left the house and drove the mile to my parents’ house. Turning down the street the lights of the ambulances and police cars lit up the road. “Oh God,” I gasped. I explained to Lily again for the 3rd time that grandpa died. She was so tired she thought it was time for school. When she saw the lights it hit her. She started to cry and I told her, “no. We have to be strong for Grandma. They are still working on Grandpa so you might see that. Can you be strong for Gradma?” “yes,” she answered. We both went inside the home.
My mom’s face was white. She looked dead. She sat in the living room chair. My sister ushered me to the back bedroom where my father lie on the floor. The EMTs trying to work miracles. Then suddenly they explained they had a heartbeat and they must get him to the hospital.
I dropped my daughter off at my Aunts and I drove the hour to the hospital. The snow came down so hard I could hardly see. I prayed the ambulance would make it. The thought of the heartbeat kept me strong.
I arrived at the hospital just before they wheeled my dad to surgery. I said, “I love you Dad. See you soon!”
An hour later the doctor came in and explained what had happened in surgery. Things like, “he had two blocked heart valves and an AAA.” “We tried to get to the heart but couldn’t because of the aneurysm.” “He kept needing CPR” “The blood thinners made him bleed out his nose.” “No Brain activity.” And lastly, “I think it’s time to let him go.”
We were led to his room. We all said goodbye.
Michigan went nearly two months without seeing the sun. While driving home the sun was rising. It was so bright and so beautiful. And wouldn’t you know it? We had sunny days every day until after the funeral. That’s supposed to be encouraging. Hopeful. Happy.
It doesn’t feel like it.