What Now?
My dad passed away on Sept. 8th, 2009.
No matter how many times I type that or say that, I just can’t seem to wrap my head around it. It’s something everyone has to go through for the loved ones in their lives. I have friends who have lost parents so they know what I’m going through. But it’s also very hard to try and pick up the pieces. My dad had been through hell, so of course I know that we all should be relieved he is out of pain. And I am. My mom is too. But we also miss him. Dearly. Part of me is relieved. And then I get the guilt of being relieved that usually follows. In 2002 he had a terrible car accident – punctured lungs, broken bone in vertebrae, concussion, broken ribs, heart problem, the works. It’s amazing that he survived THAT. But I’ll be honest. After that, his health pretty much deteriorated. He was in and out of hospitals for the next 7 years – blisters, gangreene, masses in his joints that prevented him to bend elbows and knees, pneumonia, blood clots, the works. AGAIN. It seemed no sooner he came home, he’d be good for a few months and then bam back to the hospital for something.
It has come to my realization that the docs just put band aids on him to keep him going for 7 years. What kills me more than anything is that his mind was still active. And in tact. And he had his wits. But his body just shut down. He was 71. The day he died, I got a frantic call from my mom, who I had JUST dropped off at the hospital, and she informed me that he had a heart attack following a procedure that was to determine WHY he had pneumonia for the 3rd time this year. He had it in Jan., in April, and now. They performed one more procedure, to insert a line to open his heart to see if there were clots, which there were none. In the process, his lungs, which were already overflowing with fluid due to the pneumonia filled up again. They couldn’t extract any oxygen. The lungs had pretty much given up. He was on every machine imaginable. When my mom and I went to see him, I have a feeling he was gone then, and the doctors knew it but still wanted to try and try and try. It was devastating to see the doctor beating on his chest as we walked by. I thought my mom was going to drop in my arms. It’s not something I wish on anyone.
Anyone.
And we said our goodbyes. I will always remember that day. Afterwards it’s a blur. We had so many people to call. So many people to contact to get his affairs in order, which, by the way, we’re still doing. But on Monday, we buried him. He looked like he was smiling, but I know he wasn’t. That was just due to how they adjusted his face with the dentures. I knew that was his body and all, but his spirit wasn’t there anymore.
As a kid, funerals scared the shit out of me. I will be honest, I had this obsession with death, even as a kid. Even now, Edgar Allen Poe is my favorite author next to Augusten Burroughs. I always wondered. Being an only kid and all, what would happen when my parents passed away. I am thankful that a higher power at least kept them around til my adult years. I just couldn’t understand when someone passes away, how they just didn’t move. Or their eyes didn’t open. I couldn’t fathom it as a kid. But it’s something I didn’t tell my folks about it because I was already a weirdo so I didn’t want to end up on a shrink’s couch or something. Now that one of my parents isn’t there anymore, I can take funerals a little better. But what I hate is the image. The image of the coffin closing. The image of the servicemen folding the flag and giving it to my mom (my dad served in the army). I can’t shake seeing his face in a suit and tie, hands folded. It just about kills me inside, heart in a million pieces.
So now that my mom and I have begun living, I am left with the question of “now what?” What do we do? I guess we keep living. It’s what he’d want us to do.
But it’s so hard, when he’s not there.
