My father died on Wednesday. I think I must have said, written, and typed this sentence a thousand times since then, but it doesn't feel real. I keep wanting to call him and tell him about all the activity of the past two days, to invite him to supper and share the news, and to hear him walking slowly up to my front door just to say hello. I imagine this must be something akin to the situation of an amputee still experiencing pain and sensation in the phantom limb, except I have a phantom father. More like a phantom heart right now. It's been cut out and torn to shreds, but all the pain remains.
I knew that his health had been declining over the past year. I could see him slowing down and subconsciously understood that I needed to prepare myself for all possibilities, including his death. No matter how much one prepares, however, it always comes as a tremendous shock. Unfortunately, his death did not result from age or natural causes as such. He fell out of bed and laid on the floor for thirty-six hours before my husband went to check on him at my request. I had been out of town for the weekend and when I couldn't contact him two days in a row, I knew something was amiss. At first we believed he would recover, but as the days wore on he became seriously ill. Suffering from crush syndrome caused by being prone for so many hours, one by one all his organs shut down. I couldn't believe this was happening to my strong, vibrant, wonderful, amazing father. How could this random type of death be remotely fair for a man as generous, loving, spirited, kind and complimentary as him?
I could feel my heart cracking and breaking as I said goodbye, as I wished him well on his journey, as I told him it was okay to go. He waited for that....permission from my sister and I to leave. So many thoughts and memories flooded my mind in those last hours. I remembered episodes with Daddy I hadn't remembered in decades. One story melded into the next as my sister and I talked to each other and to him. We wove a blanket of love, memories, and prayers to warm him and us in his remaining time. And, although unconscious, he knew we were there.
I am so grateful that I got to say my "I love yous" and my "Goodbyes." I didn't get that with my mother. She died suddenly and instantly from a massive heart attack. My father's passing, while completely different from my mother's didn't hurt any less. It hurt differently and the same simultaneously.
I cannot believe that they are both gone. My link to my childhood, the two people who raised me, taught me, and loved me unconditionally are now somewhere else. A far better place, I am certain, but still not here with me. I know from past experience time will heal my heart. I will laugh again at the memories and stories of my father instead of cry. I will continue to live fully and well because of the values and beliefs he instilled in me. Right now, however, it just hurts too much to even consider feeling better. Feeling better almost seems like a betrayal to his memory. The love I had for Daddy was so great, the pain should be equally sized as well.
I am going to get through this. I am strong. I keep having to remind myself of all the things I tell everyone else. I just don't want to listen to me right now. I want to cry....to wail my grief out loud....to rail at the universe for being unfair and selfish and cruel. I don't want platitudes that although trite, are true. Time heals all wounds...the circle of life....he would want you to be happy....What I want, what I truly, deeply, passionately want...is my father back. I know that is not going to happen, and I know I will have to deal with my new reality as it is, but I also know that I am not going to deal with it right now. Right now I am just going to love him, to miss him, and to cry.
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