Graduation

My beloved dad, Patrick, died on December 4, 2013. I was on my way to pick him up from the hospital to bring him home when I received word that he had coded.

It was sunny and cold. It was 10:45 in the morning, I was talking to my husband on the phone with the phone sitting in the cup holder. I was letting him know I was on my way to pick up dad and that we were having cod and fresh broccoli for dinner. Dad loved fish and fresh vegetables.

There was a momentary sound of silence during the conversation which indicated a text message. I looked at it and it was from Chris, dad's caregiver. It said "Your dad coded, please hurry". Instantly I couldn't breathe and my chest was burning. I was afraid I wouldn't make it as the traffic was so slow. I told my husband "oh my goodness... I can't breathe... just got a text saying dad coded... talk to me please... oh God.."

I was shaking so badly. But I managed to get to the hospital. My legs were so shaky but I forced myself to walk normally, not run.

When I arrived in his room; room 204, the place was a frenzied mess. He had about 10- 15 people in his room. They wouldn't let me in, but I could see them frantically working on him. They were using paddles to try to get a stable heart beat and in between were taking turns doing CPR on him. Shannon, the respiratory therapist, stood at dad's head manually pumping air into him every 5 seconds or so.

Chris, dad's caregiver was standing in the hall, crying. I wanted to go into dad, but a member of the staff wouldn't let me. She kept saying "you don't want to remember him this way". Who was she kidding? I wanted my dad to know I was there, that he wasn't alone, that I loved him. Who cared what he looked like? Certainly not me.

At one point, Dr. Ralalsky came out of dad's room to talk to me. My husband Rollie had arrived at this time. He told both of us that he suspected a clot. He wanted to administer a "clot buster" to dad. He explained that because dad had compromised blood flow and therefore not much oxygen for nearly an hour, that if dad did come out of this, chances were he would have some brain damage. He asked us if we thought dad would want to live with brain damage. In disbelief, I replied "You know my dad. He has a master's degree in psychology. He's brilliant. All he has is his beautiful mind. Do YOU think he would want to live with brain damage"? He shook his head; we all knew that would be so wrong.

At about 11:30, they finally let me come into the room. They also let Rollie follow me into the room, although I wasn't aware of it. I walked to the bed where they were still working on him and said loudly and clearly, "dad!". He instantly opened his eyes, which drew murmurs. He looked at me and I said, "I love you, dad. I'm here". He nodded his head. I could see a little fear in his eyes.

Every scripture I knew had flown far away, leaving me feeling empty and useless. So I did the only thing I could remember to do, I sang. I sang the only song that came to my head, "Jesus Loves Me". As I sang to him,and stroked his brow, he closed his eyes. His features relaxed. I learned later that as I sang to him, his heart rate began to steady, his blood pressure came up, he "rallied" as the doctor would describe it later. I also learned that there wasn't a dry eye in that room. Everyone was quiet because they were all crying.

After I sang to him, I asked him if he wanted to stay with me, he nodded yes. I asked him if he wanted them to keep working on him, again, he nodded yes, as emphatically as he could. I told him he had to help. I then sang "Amazing Grace" to him. A song so fitting for him as he so often shared with me that he didn't understand why or how God loved him and had thought enough of him to save him, but he was so grateful and so amazed by God. After I sang to him the 2nd time, I bent close to his ear and prayed. I acknowledged God as our Creator, I thanked him for dad's life. I can't remember everything I said, but I do know I worshiped and acknowledged God as God. Rollie had his hand on my back the whole time.

Shortly after the prayer, the doctor said it was a good time to move dad to CCU and let machines take over for Shannon, the young man who had manually been giving dad air for over an hour and a half. I was allowed to hold his hand every step of the way except when we went through the door. Even with coordination, it resembled the 3 stooges when all three would try to get through a door at once.

As we walked I held dad's hand and told him what we were doing. I know I was so full of hope and at this point thinking I would be bringing him home. Dad seemed to still be with us at this point. In my hope, I don't think I saw the truth of the situation, that he wasn't going to make it this time.

When we got to CCU, the hospital chaplain (who had been with us since before we switched rooms) let me know other family had arrived. I left dad for a moment while they got transferred him to the bed and got him hooked up on monitors and air. I went to the waiting room where a few friends and dad's brother had gathered. I let them know what I knew, but again, I don't recall a lot of the conversation. I know a friend went to pick up Mollie. Paris was there already. I didn't want to be away from dad at all so I went back to his room where I took up my hand holding with him.

Soon, they asked if other family could come in. I remember being concerned because CCU has rules; only 2 visitors at a time, but they didn't seem to be concerned and set up chairs for people to sit. That should have also been a clue, but it wasn't. I just kept holding his hand and stroking his head. Thinking that he was just resting.

All the time I stood with him, my back was to the monitors. But my husband could see them. He said he watched my dad's heart beat slower and slower; going from 60 to 40, then 20 and even to 0 a couple times. I am so glad I never saw that. I remained the optimistic Miss Sunshine. I think I thought that all the love I had in my heart for him would keep him with me.

Finally the doctor suggested turning off the annoying beeping sounds. I agreed, thinking it would be more peaceful. He suggested taking the breathing tube out of dad's mouth. I agreed to that as well, thinking dad would be more comfortable.

Is love capable of that much denial? He couldn't comfortably breathe without his bi-pap for any real length of time and here I was thinking he'd be more comfortable without the oxygen/breathing tube?

There was some blood on his mouth where a sore had opened back up. I asked for a wash cloth. I got it wet with warm water and the thought crossed my mind "it's like getting the body ready for burial". I didn't realize that by this time, dad had already left his body and was being greeted by a happy Heavenly family. I carefully washed his face, remembering how much he loved to have his face washed when he was in the hospital.

Eventually I knew he was gone. The doctor called his time of death at 1:10 PM even though I think it was probably before that.

I was crushed. Shattered. Heart broken. Lost. Confused. In denial.

I held his hand for over an hour as we waited for family to come say goodbye. All my children, except for my son, were with me. Rollie faithfully by my side. My tower of strength, provided for me by God. My sister Bel and her husband came.

Before we left, we all joined hands to pray; my husband, our girls, Bel, Bobbie and me still holding dad's hand. We thanked God for dad. The kids prayed and made promises and recounted memories to their precious grandpa.

It was the hardest thing to do, gathering up his belongings and not him. Taking his things but leaving him. It made me mad. And I cried saying "this isn't right. I want to take HIM home".

I have never felt such grief. Such a tearing. I felt like part of me was in shreds. I felt like a bleeding, broken mess. I didn't know how I was even going to begin to heal. Dad had been the patriarch, the center force in our home for 7 years. He was our counselor, our centering. And our world had just been shaken to the core.

The next steps taken the next few days were shaky steps. Scary steps. Steps that challenged my faith, even seemed to mock my faith. Serious questions were asked by my heart. Serious answers were given to me by God.

The writings that follow are taken from my postings on Facebook. They are all posted under the heading "Grief".