Dad

This post has little to do with transplant, but it does have a great deal to with transformation.

Three weeks ago my dad died very suddenly. In the early morning hours I had recieved the dreaded phone call that he had been found unresponsive and had been taken to the hospital. A thousand thoughts came rushing at me all at once. Panic and despair quickly set me in motion and unleashed a chain of events that devastated our family.

Early morning driving to the hospital and replaying the words in my head, looking for clues and understanding as to what happened. My mind was racing. We pull up to the ER after trying figure out where he had been taken. I walked through the doors to a eerily quiet waiting room and asked if he was there, still not sure if I had the right hospital. That few moments seemed like an eternity. The receptionist confirmed he was there and that someone would be out to speak with me shortly. My heart sank. I knew what that meant and I agonized over my entire relationship with my dad in that brief moment.

The nurse escorted us to the family room. I collapsed against my husband as every step towards that room became harder and harder. I felt numb and sank into the chair. I wanted to crawl inside myself and stay there. I began cry and my husband held me tightly against his chest. I looked up and saw his face and the tears that had welled up in his eyes.

The doctor came in the conference room and knelt down looking into my eyes as he began to give his speech  "despite our best efforts your father has passed." 

I couldn't hear anything any more just my muffled sobs pierced the silence of the room. I wanted to see him I needed to see for myself that he was truly gone. I expected dad to be sitting up and laughing like it was a joke. It wasn't a joke. His rosey complexion had been replaced with a gray hue, and his hands layed lifeless beside the bed. I grabbed his hand and felt the coldness. Still wanting and hoping he would squeeze my hand, but he didn't he had truly died.

At that moment I was no longer the woman of my forty seven years but a little girl who lost her daddy.

We sat with him for over an hour talking to him and loving him. We prayed with him and watched as he was given his final sacrament. We said our goodbyes and left the hospital with a bag of his tattered  blood stained clothes and his gold necklace he always wore. It was done he was gone.

My greif was immeasurable and I didnt just grieve the loss of him but the loss of my mother years ago. I was alone without parents. I felt orphaned, and scared. Still the little girl, I felt lost. A flurry of emotions and memories came flooding through my mind in rapid succession. It was like a VCR stuck on replay and I couldn't get the tape to stop playing.

I know death comes for us all inevitably, however in that moment you dont think that way. Your only left with questions. Why did this happen? What to we do now? How do I live without them both?

I know now that I will live without them, but I dont want to. I want them back. I want my long conversations and joke telling. I want them to tuck me in at night. I want to hear them sing me songs and laugh at my antics.  Hugs, I want to feel their hugs...
Selfish? Perhaps so, but my heart is broken. I dont know that you ever get over the loss of your parent, you just learn a new way of living without them. You learn to accept death in all its forms, and you learn how to grieve quietly without ceasing. I know death can be a gift. My parents both suffered near the end of their lives and both were ready to leave this world. I just wasn't ready for them to go...Yes death can be a gift, it was just one I wasn't ready to recieve!