one year
365 days, and I’ve missed him every single one.
If I’m being completely honest, the feeling I had as we watched Daddy take his last breath was one of relief. Relief that the days, weeks, months of physical and emotional suffering were over for him.
Watching my father deteriorate was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I’d spent four years learning how to fix people, and there was nothing I could do to fix him. I was with him when the doctor finally said “This may be it. There’s one more thing we can try, but I’m not sure it’s going to be successful.” I watched Dad refuse to give up even then- wanting to know the details of that one more thing, while I silently prayed it would work. I saw the look on the doctor’s face when Dad asked the question docs hate the most “so, how much time do I have left?”
“It’s hard to say Mr. Chambers, if the procedure goes well, it could be a few months, if not, likely weeks.”
Fuck.
Neither of us said it, but I know we both thought it. That’s not enough time. I’m not ready yet.
As I hugged him goodbye a few days later, I couldn’t help but think that maybe it was the last Daddy-hug I was ever going to get. Who knew how fast things would change, whether we’d be able to make it back in time, what shape he would be in if we did.
And when he called to see how my interview went, and asked Sissy to pick up another phone, I knew it wasn’t good. He chose not to tell us when he checked himself into the hospital because he didn’t want it to interfere with my interview. He refused to let his sickness hold me back.
When we walked into his house and he couldn’t even get out of bed, and everyone said “oh good, the nurse is here, she can handle his medical care” all I could think was no, no, NO! I don’t want to do that, I can’t do that, that’s my father in there, dying. The one who is supposed to walk me down the aisle and spoil my children- I’m not ready for this!
I’ve never felt so overwhelmed in my life. All I wanted to do was break down in tears, but I knew that seeing me cry would hurt him even more. Thankfully, since it was New Year’s Eve, I got to leave the house that night, which gave me the chance to step back and process. The chance to cry and pray and argue with God. So when my sister called and told me to meet them in the ER at 3am, I was more prepared to handle what lay before me.
And for the next twelve days, each one got harder than the day before. At some point early on, God said “hey, I know you and your dad haven’t had the best relationship the last few years, but in the end you love him and you know he loves you. Well it’s the end, so step up and show him how much he means to you” and from then on, it got easier to do. Easy to get up every four hours to give him pain medicine, to suction him when things started to really go downhill, and to hold his hand while he was sleeping- so that if he stirred or woke up, he knew he wasn’t alone.
The other thing that made those twelve days bearable was also one of my favorite things about him- his sense of humor. No matter how hard it got for him, or how much it started to hurt, he always kept us laughing, and in doing so, kept us at ease. Thanks for that Daddy. I know you wanted to help make it easier for us, and you did, you really, really did.
Those last couple of days were definitely the hardest. Watching someone you love suffer will tear your heart apart. I am beyond grateful that it only lasted as long as it did. I know there are plenty of people who deteriorate at a much slower rate, and the suffering seems like it won’t ever end. I’m so glad that wasn’t the case for Dad. I know he fought long and hard to get to say goodbye to all of the people who loved him dearly, and when the last one left, he relaxed and let go.
So when his chest didn’t rise again, I felt relief and peace. The smirk on his face showed that he did too. The hard part for him was over.
For the rest of us, it had really just begun.
Luckily, I was surrounded by many people who overflowed me with their love and support. Siblings who hugged me at our weakest points, and stepped up to handle things I didn’t want to think about. Friends who helped me focus on the good parts, and forced me to keep playing. Family who shared memories of Dad, and stories I’d never heard before. A God who blessed me with something amazing to look forward to- a job that would simultaneously remind me of my father, while pushing me to move forward.
Missing your daddy everyday, sucks. There have been times when the tears caught me off guard, and times that I’ve wanted to hide and pretend it never happened. But slowly over the last year, my heartbreak has started to heal. When things remind me of him, they rarely make me sad anymore. Now, I often find myself smiling at the memories. I feel him around me- in my sister as she raises a beautiful baby girl, in my brother has he embraces the Lompoc community, in my Aunt as she takes on the leadership role in the family and in my favorite patient, whose jaundiced eyes light up when he smiles.
I hate saying that my dad “lost the battle with cancer” because he didn’t. He may have lost the war, but he won every single battle. It was as if he said “ok, you can have the when, but I’m in charge of how it happens.”
A year ago, we said our final goodbyes to Dad. But January 12th isn’t the day my daddy died- it’s the day he stopped suffering.
One of the other ways he's helped us make it easier, is by saving some of the most awesome things from our childhoods- most of which show how awkward we were. Whatever, I'm sure bangs and bell-bottomed sleeves were totally cool in 1997.
If I’m being completely honest, the feeling I had as we watched Daddy take his last breath was one of relief. Relief that the days, weeks, months of physical and emotional suffering were over for him.
Watching my father deteriorate was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I’d spent four years learning how to fix people, and there was nothing I could do to fix him. I was with him when the doctor finally said “This may be it. There’s one more thing we can try, but I’m not sure it’s going to be successful.” I watched Dad refuse to give up even then- wanting to know the details of that one more thing, while I silently prayed it would work. I saw the look on the doctor’s face when Dad asked the question docs hate the most “so, how much time do I have left?”
“It’s hard to say Mr. Chambers, if the procedure goes well, it could be a few months, if not, likely weeks.”
Fuck.
Neither of us said it, but I know we both thought it. That’s not enough time. I’m not ready yet.
As I hugged him goodbye a few days later, I couldn’t help but think that maybe it was the last Daddy-hug I was ever going to get. Who knew how fast things would change, whether we’d be able to make it back in time, what shape he would be in if we did.
And when he called to see how my interview went, and asked Sissy to pick up another phone, I knew it wasn’t good. He chose not to tell us when he checked himself into the hospital because he didn’t want it to interfere with my interview. He refused to let his sickness hold me back.
When we walked into his house and he couldn’t even get out of bed, and everyone said “oh good, the nurse is here, she can handle his medical care” all I could think was no, no, NO! I don’t want to do that, I can’t do that, that’s my father in there, dying. The one who is supposed to walk me down the aisle and spoil my children- I’m not ready for this!
I’ve never felt so overwhelmed in my life. All I wanted to do was break down in tears, but I knew that seeing me cry would hurt him even more. Thankfully, since it was New Year’s Eve, I got to leave the house that night, which gave me the chance to step back and process. The chance to cry and pray and argue with God. So when my sister called and told me to meet them in the ER at 3am, I was more prepared to handle what lay before me.
And for the next twelve days, each one got harder than the day before. At some point early on, God said “hey, I know you and your dad haven’t had the best relationship the last few years, but in the end you love him and you know he loves you. Well it’s the end, so step up and show him how much he means to you” and from then on, it got easier to do. Easy to get up every four hours to give him pain medicine, to suction him when things started to really go downhill, and to hold his hand while he was sleeping- so that if he stirred or woke up, he knew he wasn’t alone.
The other thing that made those twelve days bearable was also one of my favorite things about him- his sense of humor. No matter how hard it got for him, or how much it started to hurt, he always kept us laughing, and in doing so, kept us at ease. Thanks for that Daddy. I know you wanted to help make it easier for us, and you did, you really, really did.
Those last couple of days were definitely the hardest. Watching someone you love suffer will tear your heart apart. I am beyond grateful that it only lasted as long as it did. I know there are plenty of people who deteriorate at a much slower rate, and the suffering seems like it won’t ever end. I’m so glad that wasn’t the case for Dad. I know he fought long and hard to get to say goodbye to all of the people who loved him dearly, and when the last one left, he relaxed and let go.
So when his chest didn’t rise again, I felt relief and peace. The smirk on his face showed that he did too. The hard part for him was over.
For the rest of us, it had really just begun.
Luckily, I was surrounded by many people who overflowed me with their love and support. Siblings who hugged me at our weakest points, and stepped up to handle things I didn’t want to think about. Friends who helped me focus on the good parts, and forced me to keep playing. Family who shared memories of Dad, and stories I’d never heard before. A God who blessed me with something amazing to look forward to- a job that would simultaneously remind me of my father, while pushing me to move forward.
Missing your daddy everyday, sucks. There have been times when the tears caught me off guard, and times that I’ve wanted to hide and pretend it never happened. But slowly over the last year, my heartbreak has started to heal. When things remind me of him, they rarely make me sad anymore. Now, I often find myself smiling at the memories. I feel him around me- in my sister as she raises a beautiful baby girl, in my brother has he embraces the Lompoc community, in my Aunt as she takes on the leadership role in the family and in my favorite patient, whose jaundiced eyes light up when he smiles.
I hate saying that my dad “lost the battle with cancer” because he didn’t. He may have lost the war, but he won every single battle. It was as if he said “ok, you can have the when, but I’m in charge of how it happens.”
A year ago, we said our final goodbyes to Dad. But January 12th isn’t the day my daddy died- it’s the day he stopped suffering.
One of the other ways he's helped us make it easier, is by saving some of the most awesome things from our childhoods- most of which show how awkward we were. Whatever, I'm sure bangs and bell-bottomed sleeves were totally cool in 1997.
Thanks for sharing these thoughts, Boo. I love reading your writing, especially when you share private thoughts like these. I was intrigued, but I guess not surprised, by how many of the sentences echoed thoughts I've had myself. Thank you for helping me get through those most difficult two weeks.
ReplyDeleteAnd for what it's worth, give me a belt and a cardigan and I would totally wear that dress tomorrow. : )