I was clearing out my voicemails the other day, something that was LONG overdue... I guess I just got tired of everyone telling me that my mailboxes are full (umm can we say "avoidance"? lol)
I felt very proud as a sifted through the 29 new messages pressing 7, 7, 7, 7 to erase as prompted by Computer Voice Lady, and quickly moved on to the 11 saved messages I had hanging there in voicemail limbo.
"Hello Sue, this is _________ just wondering if you were still interested in having your kitchen cabinets refaced! We are having a special right now..... "
I pressed the quick 7. NO I don't want my cabinets refaced. How did I let those people at Home Depot talk me into that anyway, and how old WAS that message? Sigh. Onto saved message #2. Josh, in his little voice, asking if he could have a sleepover at his friend Joey's. Ah yes, I remembered that night. I called back immediately and told him of course he could! ...whereupon 3 hours later I was driving over to Joey's house when he got homesick and wanted to be picked up. Well, he had good intentions. I pressed 9 quickly. Gotta save that one.
And then, I heard the ghost..
I was stopped. Just frozen. Then I remembered why I haven't cleared my mailbox. It was my dad's voice calling from the hospital soon before he passed away in September of 2010. He sounded tired, so very weary and ready to go home. "I love you so much." he panted as he struggled for air, "more than life." I cried. And cried. Anddd then cried some more for good measure. Hearing his voice made me miss him so terribly that I thought someone had just snuck in my house and gut-punched me. Then, of course, the memories came pouring in, you know, the ones you try so very hard to build a humungous wall around?
When my dad came home from the hospital for the last time after his long hard-fought battle with colon cancer, I enlisted the aid of hospice. He didn't want to die in a cold, antisceptic-smelling hospital he had said, and I honored his wishes. He had lived with us for the past 6 years when he was first diagnosed with cancer, when he was still hopeful he was going to "beat it." But as is the way of cancer, it had spread and our family was preparing for the final stages. It was August, almost a year ago and I was getting ready to homeschool my then 6 year old son, Joshua, but I put the planning/development stage on hold and treated this as the most important life lesson he might ever learn.
Dad fell after he returned from his last week stay a the hospital. He fell a lot. It was round the clock care for almost 2 months, but I didn't care. It could have been 2 years; I would've taken care of him, the length of time was irrelevant. There were pills to administer, bandages to change, insulin to shoot. He vomited mostly every time he ate, so I had to spoon feed him blended up food. It was so uniquely humbling. Feeding, bathing and clothing your father. My father. Never in my life would I have thought I would be spoon feeding my dad applesauce and changing his diaper, but life has a funny way humbling us, doesn't it. I left jazz music on round the clock. One of the hospice nurses told me that she was in a car crash a while back and they gave her morphine for the pain. She said even though she doesn't really remember being in the hospital those first days after the crash, she remembered the sounds of people talking in her room, the low, hushed murmers of her family and friends gave her peace during that time.
So, I played jazz for dad, his favorite.
He was coherent, even upbeat, when he wasn't sleeping, so I had Josh read to his Pop. Often, he would drift off to sleep and Josh would look up confused, not really sure if he should continue or not. Once, when reading "Hop on Pop" he drifted off and Josh just continued right along reading. Upon finishing he said, "I just wanted to finish reading it. I know it's one of his favorites." Often times I would watch him sleep, hold his hand or just talk to him. One time he woke up while I was crying. He tried to reassure me that everything was going to be alright... "Daddy?" I asked choking down sobs. "Where are you going? Do you know?"
"Pumpkin." he sighed. It would be the last time I heard him call me that. "My spirit is going to go home, from where it came to be with God, and my body will go back to the wonderful world of nature."
It reassured me, but I didn't feel better. I simply could not imagine a world that didn't have my father in it. I didn't want him to suffer, but selfishly, I didn't want him to leave us, leave me.
I didn't want my daddy to go.
But, as I have come to understand and even embrace, life is just like that. Flow. We flow through this world from wherever we came, drift about sometimes peacefully sometimes it seems in turmoil, churning around like waves beating themselves upon the shore, and then we flow back out to the vast dark sea of the unknown.
I hope to meet up with my father again someday. I hope he is swirling around somewhere in the unknown, in the loving embrace of God, with my pop-pop, knowing no pain, no weariness, only love. I believe and I hope....
The day before my dad died, he told me he wasn't afraid of dying. He was ready for the journey, but he didn't want to leave me. He was worried for me. My husband and I were not doing well, divorce had even been mentioned, and I was just starting to homeschool and he wanted to be there for that. I snuggled up into the hospital bed with him and pleaded with him not to go, I needed him, what would I do without him? Despite his labored, ragged breathing and body wasting away to nothing, I cried and pleaded, I needed him! "Shhh. shhh. Okay. okay" he soothed as he patted my back, just like when I was a little girl... How could I let go? How??
That evening, I got him up to watch his favorite show and placed the baby monitor by his chair as was our usual routine and left the room to prepare dinner. As I made dinner, I listened to him, maybe for the first time since he came home from the hospital almost 2 months before. I heard the TV, loud, so he could hear it. I heard him chuckle at the funny parts then struggle to breathe then coughing wretchedly. It took a few minutes for him to regulate his breathing again, but when he did, I heard him moan. It was that sound that shot through me. He sounded so weary.
That night, before he drifted off to sleep I sang a different tune than I had during the day, a softer sweeter one that rang out on key. I whispered, "It's okay daddy. I know you have to go. It's ok. I'll be alright. I will miss you. but you did a good job. It's okay if you need to go. I understand. I love you so much daddy." Weakly he mumbled, "I love you too," and smiled. Josh came in and kissed his Pop on the forehead. "Night Pop, love you" he said lightly as he had done almost every night since he could remember. He continued to smile at his grandson and whispered, "Good nite, I love you too." I watched his smile fade softly as he fell asleep listening to the jazz music playing just as softly in the background. I put Josh to bed then returned to my dad. I wanted to spend as much time as I possibly could with him before....
I fell asleep next to him leaning carefully on his chest listening to the steady "thump thump, thump thump" of his poor heart. Stephen woke me and told me to get some sleep, I didn't look comfortable. Comfort was the last thing I cared about, but I didn't want to make my dad uncomfortable either while he slept, my heavy head on his chest, so I obligued and went down to bed.
It was 6am when Stephen came in again, this time to our bedroom, waking me softly. "He's gone." He said, stopping himself from tears. "Honey. He's gone."
I sprang out of bed and ran down to the room we had prepared 6 years earlier for my parents. It was a large room, with enough space for a kitchenette and a computer nook. It had been our game room before, and a sunroom before that so the space was filled with light. I reached the french doors and stopped suddenly. I wasn't ready to enter. I couldn't bring myself to do it. This was his room, I thought. Once I go in there, it will no longer be his, it will start the process of being empty. For a brief moment, I thought, "If I just stay here, with the door closed, everything will be okay..." I gathered the courage I needed and twisted the handle to enter.
My dad loved the room because he thought it was so cheerful. Sun poured in the windows throughout the day and into the evening, casting a warm glow over everything it touched. It was that way now, bathed with light, like the day didn't yet realize it should not be so insulting as to be sunny. "In a Sentimental Mood" was playing softly in the background as I walked over to my father and looked down at him. I didn't cry...and I didn't understand where the tears went. They were just here last night? Stage fright maybe? He was cold, frozen in peaceful slumber. He was gone. He died peacefully, blessedly, in his sleep. Suddenly, and from seemingly out of no where, a wave of anger rose in me and I blurted out to Stephen, "It's your fault! I wanted to be with him when he passed! I wanted him to know he wasn't alone!" Stephen walked the distance from the door to where I stood over my dad, fists clenched, and hugged me. "I think," he began, "He was waiting for you to leave."
Crying is a funny thing. It's strange to me how something that you fear will make you weak, can actually give you so much strength.
My legs buckled and I fell into my husband sobbing. "Daddy daddy daddydaddydaddy" echoed in my empty head.
The rest of a day was a blur. I called hospice. I called family. I call the hospital my dad was donating his body to, the same hospital my grandparents donated theirs to. My dad was an administrator at Jefferson Hospital for over 4 decades, he valued the importance of scientific research. Jeanine arrived first, one of the many wonderful hospice nurses that helped me care for me father and hugged me tight. "I just hope he knew how much I loved him." I said to her, thinking back to the many times where I was annoyed at the role of caregiver. "You know," she said, "In all my years doing hospice I have never seen anyone take care of someone like you did your father. My job was done before I got here! Believe me, that man knew how much you loved him."
It seems like rest of the memories of this past year from then until now blur together like the pages of a book being through flipped through to get to the ending. Only, there is no ending.
So. There was his voice 2 days ago drifting back to me. So sweet and yet so painful to remember, reminding me of how beautiful it all is. And gently nudging me to break down that wall I built around those memories, around life, so I can just let it flow.
Download 01 In a Sentimental Mood
Thanks Daddy. Thank you for reminding me how good it all is. I won't be the salmon. lol I love you.
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