Daddy

I got the text at noon, I think. From my stepmom. Daddy was in the hospital. "It's his heart", she told me. "Call your sister," she said. "And come. He may not last very long."

We hadn't seen or spoken to daddy in a long time. Things were complicated between my him and my sister. Past issues never fully resolved. As for me, there was no excuse. I could have called more. I could have visited more. But I just didn't. I just lived my own life. Occasionally...very occasionally I would make a quick call or text to daddy. I hadn't even done that in nearly two years. Now, he was lying in a hospital bed fighting for his life and it might very well be too late.

Guilt and regret were warring inside both of us.

Because she lived closer my sister arrived at the hospital before me. I rode in with our mom, and our Aunt. Our stepmom understood we would need Mom there. Any hard feeling were left in the past. My sister met us outside his room, tears streaming. I grabbed her into a long hug. We were standing like that, holding one another, when our stepmom grabbed us by the arms and pulled us into the room. "Come on, get in here. Get in here." Daddy was in the hospital bed, gasping for air. The nurses surrounded his bed. And then his heart stopped. I don't remember everything that happened in the few minutes after that. It's all a blur. I remember mom grabbing me, and praying. I remember my legs weakening and needing to sit. I remember looking over and seeing the nurses surrounding daddys bed. One of them was performing CPR. I remember hearing someone yell for the crash cart and then hearing an anguish cry. Whether it was in my head, or if it was really meor my sister, I don't remember. Then, Mom was leading me out the room. When I looked up I saw my brother in law leading my sister out. He was holding her up. She looked like she might collapse. I reached out with my arm. I wanted to tell mom to go help her. That I would be okay. But the words wouldn't come. Just more sobbing, I couldn't stop.

I leaned against the wall so Mom wouldn't have to hold me up anymore. She was taking it hard to. He was her first and only husband. The divorce hadn't been her choice. Or his really. Circumstances had brought them to a point where they each had to make a difficult choice. And circumstances had brought him my step mom. And things just went on from there.

The nurses and doctor had revived daddy but he would have to be put into the ICU and on life support. He had gone into cardiac arrest and his heart and lungs wasn't functioning properly. He had had two bypass surgeries before and all but one of the bypasses were blocked. After more testing they discovered his liver isn't functioning properly, or his kidneys. There was bleeding in his stomach but because of the metal plate in his chest, as a result of his second surgery, they couldn't perform an MRI to find out why. And they couldn't risk taking him off the ventilator to run an Endoscopy. Whether he made it or not would be up to Daddy and God. Nothing to do but wait.

I chose to stay in the hospital that night. As I sat with my stepmom, and my step brother I learned there was so much I didn't know about daddy. An unfortunate incident had left him with a troubled mind and heart. He blamed himself for an accident he had no part in and no control over. People who knew him and loved him had tried to help. They had tried convincing him it wasn't his fault. He didn't believe them. Wouldn't listen to reason. Even people who hadn't known daddy, but new the one involved had told him it wasn't his fault. Still, he didn't believe them. He refused to seek professional help and turned to the bottle instead. To drown the misplaced guilt. To wash away the memory of that horrible night. So daddy's emotional and mental state left something too be desired. As did his will to survive.

I spent a sleepless night in the waiting room. My penance for not being there when he needed me most. If I dozed, I would dream. When I woke I would worry. When I worried I would cry. Guilt and regret had there there claws in me, and justly so. I wasn't there when he needed me. He had never even met his grandchildren.

I spent two days at the hospital before deciding to go home. And two days later they took him off the life support. Family and friends gathered around his bed to say goodbye.

After the oxygen tube was removed, and the sedation medication taken away, daddy slowly came to. Everyone, friends and family, stood around his bed and watched as he slowly opened his eyes. As the time ticked slowly passed, we would hold Daddy's hand, tell him we loved him. He would smile and nod his head. Eventually they moved him to another room.

Some could recite everyday of something like this. They could tell you how many days they spent waiting and praying that a miracle would happen. I cannot. Thinking back, even so soon after the fact, the days blend together. It wouldn't surprise me if some of what I have written here is inaccurate. What I do remember, however, is the last day I spent with daddy. He was awake. Tired but alert. I remember the nurses and doctor had allowed him to have water and had talked about giving him light foods. And I remember starting to feel hope that I would have that chance to make up for loss time. Another chance to be the daughter I should have been. I remember the last breathy words he said to me. "Kiss." So I gave him a kiss.

My sister visited him the next day. Our stepmom said she would come by later. She felt it was important to let her spend that time with Daddy. I wasn't there that day so I don't know everything that happened or didn't happen or how hard it was for her to stand there by his bed. I imagine it as hard for her as it was for me. Maybe more so. I do know he told her he loved her, and asked for a kiss. I don't remember how long she spent at the hospital or what time she arrived home. Like I said the days and hours have blended together in my mind. I remember our stepmom arrived at the hospital and sometime after that my sister went home. And I remember that's the night he died.

At 11:58 P.M. February 2, two minutes before it would officially be my forty first birthday, I got a phone call from my stepmom. The fact that she was calling me at such a late hour, with the knowledge that she usually texted me because she's hard of hearing ran through my head in a matter of seconds...and I knew. But even that gut wrenching knowledge of what I knew she would tell me didn't prepare me for hearing the words. Daddy had passed away. We cried, we both stated how sorry we were. She wanted to know if I wanted her call my sister. I said I would. I thought it would be best.

I am not sure if hearing it from me made it harder or easier for her. But I do know the anguished cries she let loose in response on the phone will remain forever imprinted in my memory and on my heart. Nothing prepares you for receiving that kind of news, and nothing prepares you for giving it either. She must have dropped the phone. Her cries had become distant, and then my brother in law was on the line. There were so many things I needed and wanted to say. But through my own gut wrenching sobs all I could manage were " Take care of her." And then I was able to tell him what I told her. "Daddy passed away, Take care of her."

I sent two words in a text to my husband at work hoping he would come home. He walked through the door twenty minutes later. I had sent "Daddy's gone".