Sorry for the lack of words lately. I've noticed a pattern emerging in me. It is not a fluke.
It's grief.
Last month, it hit me hard on the 21st. There was a gradual build up of sadness and dread, and it culminated in absolute grief, anger, and disappointment on the 21st. The 21st is not the day my dad died. No. It was the day I arrived at the hospital thinking that all was well, and that he was getting better. Instead, a few hours later, I was telling my father that he was dying.
So, while the 22nd is certainly a sad day for me, the 21st hits me harder. I was elected to be the one to tell my father that his lungs were giving out, his kidneys were failing, and that his body couldn't withstand the needed treatments to keep those organs functioning. I was elected to be the person to ask him if he wanted to live by machines or have us turn them off.
I want you to just think about that for a moment.
Imagine telling someone you love - your brother, your husband, your son, your father - that although he wants to live and the doctors have given it all that they've got, there is no other option but to have machines breathe and circulate/clean your blood for you, or death. On top of that, imagine saying that although the treatments are available, there is less than a 10% chance that his body could even manage such harsh treatments (dialysis and the ventilator). Imagine the look in that person's eyes when they understand what you are saying. Imagine taking on that burden for everyone else and wishing to God that you could be the one in that bed instead, knowing that your own body would be able to take the treatments and live on for your family.
It sucked. There is really no other way of saying it.
So, my father's death, his illness, the funeral, the hundreds of thousands of dollars of expenses... all of that is somehow easier to take than the hour that I spent with my mother and sister hovering over his bed and looking into those eyes.
I'm trying to get over it. It's very hard. I saw a lot in those eyes - the same ones that I have.
I'll be back to some sort of normal soon. Maybe. The upside is that next month on the 21st, Amos will be one year old. At least on that day, I can focus on the happiness of the moment and remember the hours I spent in labor.
Back to the grind, eh? I'm sure I'll cheer up once tomorrow has passed.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Bandages
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12 beautiful people muttered something back:
:( I'm really sorry. I'd never wish that experience on anyone.
You have my deepest sympathy. What a terrible experience for both of you to endure.
That was definitely an awful time. Ugh.
i can't imagine what you went through, or the grief you feel, our thoughts are with you
Oh, Sarah.
Be gentle with yourself - we'll wait. There isn't a timetable on grieving.
You have quite the wounds, darlin', and wounds take time to heal.
I know it hurts, but trust me it does get easier and the sad times get further apart.
Thinking of you.
I'm so sad for you on this very sad *anniversary* date. Dads are irreplaceable.
Go easy on yourself.
Hugs to you and your family.
I can't even imagine being in your position. But the sadness you feel hits me about the same time each year. I lost my dad 5/26 4 years ago. He was overseas and I rushed on a plane with my son (whom he hadn't met yet) so he could at least meet his grandpa. We missed him by 90 minutes. That devastated me. My sympathies and empathies...
Big suckorama batman. Unfortunately I have been reading way too much of TheBloggess as of late and the only things I can think of too say are probably not approporiate. Which could go two ways. Totally cheer you up or totally make me look like an ass. Since I am not willing to risk looking like an ass to cheer you up, I will insinuate that I was nearly ready to look like an ass to cheer you up and hope that will cause you smilifications on some level.
I'm so very sorry for the pain you're feeling. Though it won't ever truly pass (and you wouldn't want it to), you will cope with it with the joys on the other side of the spectrum. Just imagine yourself, had you been the one dying, having that news broken to you. Would you want to look into the eyes of your beloved child as you passed into the next stage of life, whatever that may be?
If having you there to share the pain with him allowed your father to go peacefully, then it has to be worth it. I know you feel that, as heart-breaking as it was to have been THE one. You saved your mom and sister from that, and that shows a truly noble spirit.
I've never had to experience that. I've lost a grandfather who barely recognized his own wife in the last few months of his life. He died May 11th (on Mother's Day)when I was 13. Mother's Day, even now, brings sadness for me. And then my uncle's death - well, we never knew if he was able to hear our goodbyes at all.
I think it might to harder to deliver the message, and know that your loved one understands it, with no choice but to accept it. I'm so sorry. Keeping you in my thoughts as always.
I did not have to go through this with my aunt, my cousin did. She had to break the news to her that the cancer had moved from her throat to her brain and within 10 days she was gone.
It is awful but you know I am going to have a weird twist on this - and that is - for how hard it was for you - he heard it from someone who loved him - ups, downs, whatever - he knew you loved him and it came from someone he knew it was the last thing they ever wanted to say. If he had to share that moment with anyone - at least it was you and not a doctor.
So sorry your pain is revisited on you. I cannot truly imagine what that experience must have been like. If you were closer, I'd brew you some tea and force you to eat my cooking. Not that it would help, but, um. I'd do it anyway.
Love.
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