Have to Post this Somewhere - Part 2 - The Loss of my Father
I beat her there because I was in the same city. They wouldn't let me see him as they needed room to work. I knew it was bad when a chaplain sat next to me in the waiting room. I was just shaking and bitterly snarled, “I wonder if they'll FINALLY try to actually treat what's been wrong with him all these years!? Is it time yet?!” I told him a bit about how good of a man Dad was... IS! How if he dies, maybe I can take it, but I don't know about Mom, they've been married for 30 years, Mom was only 18 at the time so all she knew was having him in her life...
By the time Mom got there, they had stopped after trying approximately half an hour. A massive blood-clot had lodged in his lungs, and he'd had multiple organ failure. There had been nothing that could be done at that point. With a body that could no longer take in oxygen, he just couldn't fight anymore.
I wasn't accepting it though... I kept feeling his chest, seeing if anything would happen. I whispered in his ear, over and over, for him to please come back. To not leave Mom and me and everybody. That it could still work because he was still warm. I begged and pleaded, crying in one short burst as I shook him. I felt a bit of movement in his abdomen. I got a nurse, but she told me it was due to drugs they'd administered to jump-start his heart; just residual reflex. I kept waiting and listening, but there were no steady beats. But that shadow of a doubt was hard to give up on... But then I remembered how so many of his organs had failed, how he would still be unable to breathe no matter what, how he had been in so much agony for so long... I cried once more, quietly this time, whispering to him apologies for being so selfish... that he could go ahead and rest, and not be in pain anymore.
And that was the last time I could cry that day and the next few.
But then I had to go and finish moving my things out of my apartment. While my Dad was still warm in the hospital, I had to get my things out because it was the deadline. I had to dust walls and scrub sinks and vacuum in sweltering heat while in trembling shock. My sister helped me so we could get it over with. I have no idea how she was handling it so well... she is always super-emotional about every little thing... this... I truly admire her. There are no words for how strong she has been through all of this, even given her periods of screaming and crying that everyone is entitled to for this... She is very, very strong.
Me, I couldn't cry. My chest hurt.
The chaplain was very good to us when we returned (and before we had left), very supportive and sincere. Friends of my parents had managed to come from afar to be with Mom. We all hugged everyone over and over. Everyone was crying, except for me. Dad was cold and yellow when the chaplain gave a touching eulogy and read a Bible verse for him, commending his spirit to Heaven. I still couldn't cry. I felt like my heart was literally breaking, I felt panic that I was going to die too, and cause everyone more pain.
This feeling continued, even at Mom's house, even at my new house, I still couldn't cry. I put what happened on Facebook, and got some sympathetic one-liners over time. I couldn't bring myself to electively talk about the loss; it was too intense, I felt it'd kill me. So I concentrated on supporting my family members. I was so exhausted from my bad health, the sleep issues, the move, and now this... And then, I had to work. Our boss (Mom and I both work for retail intelligence) did not get back to us about the news, and so I had to force myself to use what little strength I had to work, instead of dealing with all these sudden changes. I just felt the panic in my chest, the ache, my heartbeat uneven, so afraid I'd die, angry that I had to be distracted by that panic instead of getting to grieve for my dad, despairing at having to work instead of wrap my head around what had happened...
By the time Mom got there, they had stopped after trying approximately half an hour. A massive blood-clot had lodged in his lungs, and he'd had multiple organ failure. There had been nothing that could be done at that point. With a body that could no longer take in oxygen, he just couldn't fight anymore.
I wasn't accepting it though... I kept feeling his chest, seeing if anything would happen. I whispered in his ear, over and over, for him to please come back. To not leave Mom and me and everybody. That it could still work because he was still warm. I begged and pleaded, crying in one short burst as I shook him. I felt a bit of movement in his abdomen. I got a nurse, but she told me it was due to drugs they'd administered to jump-start his heart; just residual reflex. I kept waiting and listening, but there were no steady beats. But that shadow of a doubt was hard to give up on... But then I remembered how so many of his organs had failed, how he would still be unable to breathe no matter what, how he had been in so much agony for so long... I cried once more, quietly this time, whispering to him apologies for being so selfish... that he could go ahead and rest, and not be in pain anymore.
And that was the last time I could cry that day and the next few.
But then I had to go and finish moving my things out of my apartment. While my Dad was still warm in the hospital, I had to get my things out because it was the deadline. I had to dust walls and scrub sinks and vacuum in sweltering heat while in trembling shock. My sister helped me so we could get it over with. I have no idea how she was handling it so well... she is always super-emotional about every little thing... this... I truly admire her. There are no words for how strong she has been through all of this, even given her periods of screaming and crying that everyone is entitled to for this... She is very, very strong.
Me, I couldn't cry. My chest hurt.
The chaplain was very good to us when we returned (and before we had left), very supportive and sincere. Friends of my parents had managed to come from afar to be with Mom. We all hugged everyone over and over. Everyone was crying, except for me. Dad was cold and yellow when the chaplain gave a touching eulogy and read a Bible verse for him, commending his spirit to Heaven. I still couldn't cry. I felt like my heart was literally breaking, I felt panic that I was going to die too, and cause everyone more pain.
This feeling continued, even at Mom's house, even at my new house, I still couldn't cry. I put what happened on Facebook, and got some sympathetic one-liners over time. I couldn't bring myself to electively talk about the loss; it was too intense, I felt it'd kill me. So I concentrated on supporting my family members. I was so exhausted from my bad health, the sleep issues, the move, and now this... And then, I had to work. Our boss (Mom and I both work for retail intelligence) did not get back to us about the news, and so I had to force myself to use what little strength I had to work, instead of dealing with all these sudden changes. I just felt the panic in my chest, the ache, my heartbeat uneven, so afraid I'd die, angry that I had to be distracted by that panic instead of getting to grieve for my dad, despairing at having to work instead of wrap my head around what had happened...