Goodbye Dad

Posted on | May 23, 2009 | 1 Comment

Last year my Father was diagnosed with cancer. At the end of February he went into the hospital to have his bladder removed. While this was a risky surgery, his doctors did not foresee any major issues. After the surgery he was in a lot of pain, but more than what would be normal. Because of his already weakened state (diabetes, cancer, among other health issues), his body had trouble healing and the stitches that held his intestines together broke open. He was rushed in for a second emergency surgery, but it was too late. In the days following the second surgery he developed septis, a serious infection that takes over the whole body.

While he was fighting to recover, I would visit him as much as I could. This meant I was typically there from 4am to 6am and from 8pm to as late into the night that my eyes would stay open. Odd as it may sound, I learned a lot about him during this time and a lot about myself. Although he was sedated, I knew he could hear me or sense me. I would read to him and tell him what the doctors and nurses where doing for him. Then there came a point when the doctors started trying to prepare me. “For what?” I thought. I was confident he would make it. They asked what his wishes were in regards to being resuscitated. My mother and him discussed it years ago and she knew he would not want to be resuscitated if his quality of life was not going to be good. So we told them, do not resuscitate.

Sometime later, the respiratory nurse came into his room to check on him. I asked how he was doing. He told me that he was barely breathing on his own, the machine was doing most of the work, but he was fighting. That night, I told my Dad what the doctors had told us. They didn’t think he was going to make it. I told him that it was ok, that I loved him, and we would all be fine. Over the course of the next minute his breathing changed. The screen that monitored his breathing was no longer making large peaks, just small humps. Fear took over and I ran to get the nurse. She said it was fine because the machine was there to keep him breathing. I was there late that night, saying my goodbyes I suppose. I knew what had happened; he let go.

The next morning I came back. He looked completely different. Maybe his skin, the ways his eyes rested. I’m not sure how to describe it. I had a restless feeling, almost angry. I wanted to shut the machine off right then and there. Later that morning, the rest of our family came to the hospital. We had decided to take him off of the breathing machine. My mom and I were in the room with him. It was hard for him to breath without the machine. I spoke into his ear, “It’s ok Dad, God is waiting. We love you.” Forty minutes after being removed from the machine he took his last breath. Death in reality, is not much like the movies I’ve seen. It engulfs all of your senses, not just sight. But it is truly the most beautiful event in a persons life – leaving the world to meet with God.

Of course, there is regret over the things you didn’t do or the things you did do, things said or unsaid. Some days are easier than others. I know that my Dad knows what is in my heart. I’m glad I was able to make peace during his last days, and for the rest of my life I have one constant memory to hold on to: a daughter’s love for her father.

This is the video I made for his memorial:

More Family Pics:

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Related posts:

1. Recovery in the Hospital
2. Delivery
3. Still Pregnant – 40 weeks & 1 day

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