(no subject)
my dad died in november. some days, it still doesn't feel real. some days, i try to believe he's off on another tour of duty, even though he had been retired from service for years and years and years.
and some days, when i'm feeling really selfish, i forget death is death, straight across the board, and think that suddenly is the worst.
he was just feeling a little bad, and then, just gone.
i remember that day, every moment, because my mom can't. i remember most, like i can still hear it, that phone call: "kim, i don't want to upset you now, but your mom thinks you ought to turn around and come back. kim, you need to come back."
he had had a seizure, and they were wheeling him into icu when i got there.
an hour later, and just gone.
i don't remember crying, and if i don't remember doing it, then i really didn't. i think i was still thinking of the last words we said to each other.
"you don't have to be here; it's okay. i know how we are about hospitals."
"no place else i want to be, pop."
"i love you."
"i love you, too."
later, just a little later, as i watched them turn off the machines, as his chest began to rise and fall slower and slower, i leaned in close and whispered, "you don't have to be here; it's okay. go home. i'll take care of everything. i'll take care of her. we'll be okay."
he shuttered, then, and he died, then. i think he knew, and just wanted to hear it said.
i was holding his hand.
we can't let life stop; we have to take care of each other. i didn't lose him, i didn't say goodbye, because he's still with me.
love is everything.
and some days, when i'm feeling really selfish, i forget death is death, straight across the board, and think that suddenly is the worst.
he was just feeling a little bad, and then, just gone.
i remember that day, every moment, because my mom can't. i remember most, like i can still hear it, that phone call: "kim, i don't want to upset you now, but your mom thinks you ought to turn around and come back. kim, you need to come back."
he had had a seizure, and they were wheeling him into icu when i got there.
an hour later, and just gone.
i don't remember crying, and if i don't remember doing it, then i really didn't. i think i was still thinking of the last words we said to each other.
"you don't have to be here; it's okay. i know how we are about hospitals."
"no place else i want to be, pop."
"i love you."
"i love you, too."
later, just a little later, as i watched them turn off the machines, as his chest began to rise and fall slower and slower, i leaned in close and whispered, "you don't have to be here; it's okay. go home. i'll take care of everything. i'll take care of her. we'll be okay."
he shuttered, then, and he died, then. i think he knew, and just wanted to hear it said.
i was holding his hand.
we can't let life stop; we have to take care of each other. i didn't lose him, i didn't say goodbye, because he's still with me.
love is everything.