I don’t think I even touched him after he passed. Dina just
came to tell me while I was in the shower that…he was gone. I went out there
and he was gone. That was it. We were openly talking about how long he would
gurgle before he passed and even looked it up. Who talks like that in front of
a dying man? Did he hear us? Did he know we were just sitting around waiting
for him to die? That we would then sit around waiting for him to be buried?
That we would just end up returning to our lives like a record skipped and
righted itself again?
I wish someone would have told me that Bette's dad dies of prostate cancer on a bed in her living room (L Word, S2E11). That's exactly what happened to my dad. The slow decline. The moments of clarity. The crazy side effects from drugs. The constant reminder from my mom that he was closer and closer to passing. And the worst, the morphine I was supposed to administer to him even if he didn't want it. The death kit that was forced on me along with the shame and guilt of when and how it was used. I don't know if I will ever be able to get passed that. The vivid memory creeps in and plays over and over: my dad pushing the morphine away from his mouth. Did he even know what it was? Did he think it was food or water? Did he know it would knock him out again? I think he wanted to know when he was passing. I think he wanted to feel it up until the very end. He wanted to be aware until he really couldn't be anymore. I think I took that away from him.
He was a Vietnam War hero. He was a blackhawk pilot. He was a soldier. He didn't deserve to be taken out like this. He didn't need to die so soon, so young. He was my daddy. I needed him to meet my children, my partner. I needed him at my wedding. I needed him to dance with me.
It hurts so bad. I know he was hurting so bad. I know I am being completely selfish. I know he sees me and hears me. I can talk to him whenever I want.
Daddy, Please help me find joy in our memories. Please help me learn from this pain and apply it to those that are living. I'm so sorry I wasn't honest with you. I'm so sorry we weren't closer. I'm so sorry I moved away and didn't visit that much until it was too late. I'm so sorry I didn't answer the phone when you called. I miss your voice, your smile, your laugh, and your hugs.
I'm so glad I got to spend those few years with you. You taught me so much. You loved me so much no matter what. You helped me with Jo Ann and college troubles. You supported me and loved me. I wish you were still here. I really do. But would I come visit? Would I answer your calls? If you were healthy today, would I change my behavior? We will never know.
The hurt is so deep. Sometimes I try to hide the thoughts and my feelings, but it was so much in my face today. Cancer sucks. Death sucks. Right now, someone is dying. Someone is losing their daddy. Someone is being told they have cancer and such a short time to fight it. Some are giving up right now.
I know I'm not alone in my hurt. We lost Ernie right after you. I know the Mitchell's are hurting too. I know how they feel now that Cindy has a new husband too. So much has changed. So much. What is family now? What is Christmas now? Where is the love that once was?
I have my own family now. I have Jenni's family now - I love how much her dad reminds me of you. I love how he hugs me so tight and comments on my FB page about his "girls". He is oh so sweet and kind. I really worry about his health too. I really want Jenni to have time with him. I just put this message on his page:
Thinking of you. Hope to see you soon! (((HUG))) 🤟
Thanks for giving me that idea. I know it was you. I still see you in every flashing or blinking light. I know you are near. Thank you for ... everything.
~Daddy's Little Girl
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