It's Just me, V

This day, one year ago is the last time I was able to say that to my dad. I woke up early to get out to work, knowing that I would see Dado at lunch time, my daily lunch drive to the hospital where my father was placed in hospice care just 3 days earlier. It had been snowing lightly most of the night, and here I am at 6:00am leaving for work, I muttered “It snowed today, Daddy”. Knowing what is coming, still does not make it any easier.

I worked all morning, feeling that something was off. At lunch, I made my trip over to the hospital, as I had every day since he went in. When I got there, a few fam ily members were there, visiting and chatting. Daddy seemed distant, and was having conversations that seemed to make no sense to us, but to him were perfectly clear. He kept asking who people were, when there was no one there. He was reaching for someone we couldn’t see as a relative would grab his hands and hold him, as if those reaches were for him. I was tired and frustrated. The nurse came in and said that it was time for Daddy’s medication, a pain killer. He couldn’t swallow it, I helped her offer him water – he started chewing the pill. “Oh Daddy, that’s gross!” It was as if he couldn’t make the straw work for him, trying to bite it. So while the nurse went to get gloves to help with the straw, I just dipped it in water and put my finger over the top, and dripped it into his mouth. We got that yucky pill down, and he said, “OK, let’s go!” We asked him where, and he said he wanted to go home, a request that we had heard so many times that past month. (We didn’t realize until later what he had meant by “home”)I held his hand and played with his thick curly salt and pepper hair with my fingers, taking in all of his features. His eyes, how they had changed some how, his lips as he talked, even the smell of the lotion that we had been putting on his softened skin. Gone were the callouses that his youthful hard work had put there, and the sparkle in his eyes had changed. It was time for me to head back to work… I was hesitant. I kissed his cheek, his forehead and I made the sign of the cross on his head, saying, “God bless you, Dado.” Something felt different today, I knew what was coming, but I would be back that evening to spend the night at the hospital. On my way back to work, the tears were flowing, I knew that we were (he was) close – the overwhelming sadness hit. I cried my whole drive back.

I got back to the clinic (here’s where I am a little blurry) I helped with a couple of appointments, and was talking to a friend about what our family is experiencing with this whole process. The ups and the downs and how painful words can be coming from someone that you love, the feelings of helplessness and just the process of sadness. The front desk staff had been on alert this whole time to come and get me if my family calls, I remember telling them, “Pull me out of a room if it’s my family, it’s important.” About this time, a receptionist had come around the corner and said, “V, it’s your sister.” My heart hit the floor with a thud. I picked up line 2 (don’t ask how I can remember that detail) and I hear my sister, cool and collected saying, “He’s gone…” and then as she continued to talk to me, her voice got smaller and smaller. I remember dropping the phone and melting to the floor. My friends that were there came to my side, I honestly don’t remember who was there aside from one friend, that kept saying, “V, you can’t drive like this”. I was so relieved, and sad, and heartbroken, and angry with myself for having left the hospital after lunch – I NEEDED to drive myself back to that building to be with my family and my Dado.

The drive was interesting, I took back streets to avoid traffic, and “It’s snowing, Daddy” – boy was it snowing. While I was driving down the roads in tears again, calling my sons to let them know “the news” I kept thinking of all of the things that I never got to say, those things that I I’m sure he knew, because, dad’s know everything. Listening to my sons talk to me and tell me to be careful driving this upset in the snow. Funny, I just needed control of one damned thing right now and this Hummer (H3) was it. I had control of this wheel. When I got to the hospital I managed to find a parking spot near the very back of the parking lot – don’t these people know that I need to get in there NOW? I got out and ran, sloshing over the wet pavement to the doors, only to slow down when I got to the door. I walked briskly to the elevator… my God, how long do they take?! I was hoping that I would be the only one in there, but as my luck would have it, there was a smiling lady in there. I just burst into a cry again, and she asked what was wrong. That was it, the first time I uttered those words, “My daddy just died”

My hero gone, we started planning for services, figuring out what and when. More hurtful things were said than I could have ever imagine. My emotions were so jumbled, my heart was in pieces and I had no idea how I was to continue on, but knew I had to. Dado would be so mad at me if I just gave up. I held my head high and just took what came at me. I would cling to my husband and children, prayed a lot, and tried to push myself to exercise to regain composure. It worked for a while.

Pressing forward with the amount of grief, the heaviness in my heart, the negative self talk and the hurt circling in my head like a broken record… I have managed to keep the appearance up that I was “ok”, whatever that is. I kept going to work, I would run and get sparks of the old me, but it just wouldn’t stay. I even made a challenge for myself – in April to run 83 miles from the 1st to the 13th! I got those miles in, but the hurt still stayed. I coached my Girls on the Run team last year, for the last time. The healing power of silly little girl giggles while running really does have a healing power all it’s own. I trained for my 3rd Marine Corps Marathon, while hearing my Dado’s voice every step of the way. Still the grief hung like a cloud hugs a mountain range before a storm.

Here is the hard part for me (and my brutal truth)- Since the passing of my father, I only went through the motions, masking my pain with a smile and the sense of humor. I stayed moving only enough to “keep my cover over my head” so that no one could see, and I gained weight… way more than I care to admit. And now this – has me worried. I am not this person, this person went away a long time ago. I lead a healthy active lifestyle – and you know what, I will get it back. No excuses.

I share this story with you, my readers, because I know that I am not the only one fighting to come back up to the surface for air grasping at threads to pull myself out of grief. You are not alone. I will come back, stronger for my family for me.

“It snowed today, Daddy. It snowed all day.”