Day 232 Bye Bye Dad

I was reading with my sponsor last night out of a book, “Letting Go Of The Person You Used To Be” by Lama Surya Das.  We were reading about loss and the author was listing off a peel of losses, one after another as if they were days on the calendar.  But the loss that cut the most was the loss of his dad.  He talked about his relationship with his dad, how close they were and how 6 years later the loss has cut across time and is just as acute now as the day he originally died.  I started reading out loud during this page and I couldn’t do it.  My voice started breaking and I could feel the tears flowing down my face.  Now my dad passed 13 years ago but there are moments when the loss is so fresh in my mind.  I kept reading despite my choppiness and got through my part.   My sponsor asked me if that was a rough spot and I nodded in agreement.  But it really got to me how fresh the wound was.

I texted him later saying, “It’s a hell of a thing to have your dad die in your arms…It’s a pain that I’m very familiar with.  And it’s a pain that I’ve never ran away from.”

We were alone in the hospital room, my dad and I and he was completely unconscious.  He was breathing and that was the only thing that proved that he was still alive.  He was not talking nor would he before he died.  But it was just the two of us and I had to do the talking for the both of us.  It was the last 3 hours that drained me.  I laid in bed with him, cradling his shoulders in my lap, brushing his hair and talking into his ears.  I was telling him the stuff you would tell your dad at that point.  What a good man he was, how I appreciated the kindness that he taught me, how I knew that despite his flawed ability to show emotion I knew that he loved me.  I told him I found the picture of his mother in his wallet.  He still carried a picture of his mom, dead 50 years at the time, in his wallet.  What love he had for her.  I told him that he would be in her embrace soon and that it was all right to leave at any moment to be with those that you’ve missed all these years.

His breathing was ragged and not consistent.  I could tell it was a struggle to keep it up.  All of a sudden after 71 years of not thinking about breathing, here he was forgetting to breathe during heart stopping moments.  I would then recant my blessings for him to go.  No, no Dad not now.  I really wanted to talk to him.  But his body was done and I counted my blessings that I was able to hold him while he still remained warm to the touch.  I recognized the tone of his voice though through his breathing.  It was familiar and I wanted to remember each second of it.  It’s hard to know that you can now count the seconds that your parent will be with you.  Denial working full time all the while.  Maybe this is just a thing and he’ll pull through to last another day.  But you keep talking to keep your spirits up so it’s a mélange of stuff going on.  It’s not just a boy with his dad rocking, it’s a whole lifetime of thoughts, whispers, prayers, wishes.  It’s a merry go round of what if I had done this different?  What if I hadn’t moved away would we have known each other longer?  Or more deeply?  Was there a more deeper with my dad?  I don’t know but it didn’t matter so much at that point.  I can honestly say that I didn’t know what was important at that moment.  So I kept talking.  And rocking.  That’s how I came into this world and that was how my dad was going to experience me going out.

I looked out the window and saw everything covered with snow.  It was very surreal.  I felt like we were the only 2 people on the planet in our little room in this Bellingham hospital.  Just me and my furtive whispering and my dad’s ragged breathing.  “It’s really ok for you to go now dad.  I know you’re suffering and it’s not worth it anymore.  Go be with your mom and dad and brothers and sisters.  I know you missed them all so very much.  Now it’s your time to be with them again. I love you and I’ll miss your company terribly but it’s ok.  Really Dad, it’s okay”  I cried over and over silently.  I didn’t want him to know that I was crying.  I wanted to be a brave soldier at the end for him.  I don’t think he would care and would probably not want me to be so upset.  He didn’t want to tip the boat.   As much as he wanted to stay the heavens were pushing hard on his lungs and I sensed the tipping point had tipped.  He did stop breathing and I shook him and cried no.  I shook him again and again gently but he didn’t respond.  He was done for good this time.  I could already feel the coolness taking away his warmth.  It’s not fair I protested silently.  I cried out loud this time and laid on his chest with my arms over his body like I was trying to pull him back from the crevice.  My teeth were clamped with the explosion of tears that blew out of me with the realization of death.  My dad, dead.  I eventually got up off of his body as it was getting too cool and I didn’t want to remember that.  I laid him out straight and covered him with his blanket.  I found a pair of scissors and cut a little lock of hair off of his head.  I don’t know why I’m just telling you what I did.  I kissed him on the lips and said good bye.

Was it at that point that he entered the kingdom of heaven?  Is it real?  I didn't have any feeling of paranormal shivering or extra sensory awareness of a soul flitting about.  No I think my dad was dead and gone, never to be seen again. I've been doing a lot of reading about Jesus and his father and his promise of entering into eternal life once you have forgiven yourself.  Or maybe you just get in by dying, I really don't know.  It would suck if it was that easy after some poor sod prayed and devoted his entire life waiting for that gift when it turns out it's just entitlement.  Either way, my dad was gone and I felt a part of me die that morning.  I was 45 but I felt like a little kid of 8 or 9 walking down the hallway on a Christmas morning wondering what gifts were waiting for me.  I was waiting for the joke to be up and that my dad would come to and we would continue to live with each other at the same time.  Instead I walked out into the hospital hallway in my wrinkled pajamas and found a nurse and told her that I think my dad had passed.  Passed. Left his body and split.  The moment that memories rule the rest of your life with your relationship with him.  Nothing new would be created, suffered, enjoyed, laughed at, argued over.  

He was one of the very few entities that I could say I loved in my life.  I never realized that until well after he was gone.  Whenever I think of him now it's always as a child and his dad.  And that kind of love back then was innocent, brave, tender, fulfilling.  I suffered a lot of damage during those years due to my crazy ass bitch of a mother and my dad kind of stepped back from the fray being more intent on his job than family.  But he was kind and kind hearted. I wished he was more of an engaging parent but as with my mother I had to deal with what was given to me.  I was a chaotic kid, a real challenge to raise but my dad loved me none the less.  He really never said it to me as a child but he did when I was an adult and had a child of my own. I don't really know if I can understand even that type of love, the tender neurons that were responsible for valuing and holding that knowledge close were burned out under the searing complexity of my mom's mental illness.   But I will always keep my dad as close to that place of love inside of me as long as I live.  I carry a picture of Ry in my wallet, a picture of him at 12 when I loved him more than life itself.  But that's what parents are supposed to do and how they are supposed to be.  Not screaming, swinging weapons, humiliating you, holding you responsible for their happiness or misery.  My dad was none of that and that's how I know he loved me.  I'm grateful that I could find that emotion (even though it was incomprehensible as a working attitude) in my childhood and not only survive but eventually learn to thrive. So goodbye Dad, I love you and will never forget you for one day.