Grieving for my father is something I was entirely unprepared for. Prior to his death, the only thing that even comes close to comparing is when we had to put my cat Bob to sleep. That cat and I were best friends for 16 years and I mourned his death like that of a brother. The loss of my dad makes that look like a trip to Disneyland.
As of today it has been 15 days since Dad’s passing. 17 since the aneurysm. The day to day is hard sometimes, but not always. My sister and I separately came to the conclusion that we are sad at certain times because Dad must be busy comforting somebody else. I like that thought because it makes sense to my tattered mind. Sometimes I move along in life at something resembling a normal pace. Other times it’s like I’m in slow motion. I like explanations for things.
I have found myself wanting to chronicle the time of my Dad’s death. Part of me is simply afraid that I will forget certain details. At this point it feels like forgetting anything about my father is a massive disservice to his life and memory. Another part of me feels like I’m slowly being crushed by the weight of the events composing this tragedy. I want to talk about everything, from start to finish, in intimate detail. This essay won’t be for the faint of heart. There were portions of this story where I was without any family, save my dad, by my side. Those moments in particular seem to be thrashing around in my head, demanding something. What it is they want from me, I’m not sure. This document is my attempt to stop the thrashing. I just hope that sharing will help me cope.
I’ve picked the week before this all happened as a starting point. I had been working from home due to some construction that was happening at my office. Dad was in and out all week because he was nursing a terrible cold. He had a nasty cough and was just generally pretty lethargic. I told him to go see a doctor more than once. As the week progressed, as it normally would, he seemed to be coming out of his sickness induced haze. The weather was total crap and it was my job to keep the driveway and sidewalks clear of snow. I made dinner for us a couple of nights. As I worked from my bedroom office, my dad slept in his room across the hall. At one point he brought up a humidifier from storage in the basement. He told me it helped a lot because the house was drying him out.
The details of our interactions during that week are vague. Dad spent a lot of time sleeping. I believe he started going back to work around Thursday or Friday. Other than having a particularly bad cold, everything was normal about my dad. Over the weekend I spent a lot of time out. I can’t remember what I did on that Saturday. Sunday I was home, but I’m still not really sure what I did before the evening. Dad had decided to make us some spaghetti with meat sauce for dinner. I remember he commented on having to buy wheat pasta because it was all Winco had. That night is a major cause of grief in me because it was just like a lot of Sundays. I play a game called World of Warcraft and Sundays are a night where I do a scheduled thing (“raiding”) with a group of online friends. This is something that happened almost every Sunday and I know my dad was accustomed to it. He certainly always accepted this peculiar aspect of my life.
I ate dinner at my computer, as I usually do when I’m raiding. Dad ate out in the living room, using the small table we have in front of the couch. I don’t remember what he was watching on TV. That night he ended up doing the dishes. I almost always did them when he cooked. It only seemed right. I think he turned in fairly early. “Good night” was probably the last thing we said to each other. It hurts me that one of the last chances I had to speak with my dad was squandered like this. Looking back, I hate myself for not eating dinner with him. What happened that night was simply part of our routine. Nothing about what I did was truly neglectful. It’s just difficult to look back and know what I missed.
Monday morning came, as most mornings at home usually did, with my dad getting up first. I remember being woke up pretty early by our cat Jack patrolling around, meowing for somebody to feed him. As I lay there, I was hoping dad would feed him, which he did. The sounds of the morning, a comfort my mind cries out for now, came in softly through the door of my bedroom. Dad took his normal shower. He walked around the house with his heavy- footed stride, getting his coffee, his backpack, and his car keys. The last thing I remember before he left for work was hearing him talk to Bella, our little girl cat. She has a funny, vocal way of letting us know when it’s time to pet her. Right before Dad left he stopped and talked to Bella, speaking in soft affectionate tones. I don’t know what he said, but I can still hear his voice in my mind.
I got out of bed maybe an hour or so later. Working from home wasn’t my favorite and I was happy it was Monday. Our offices were supposed to be ready on Tuesday, so I was looking forward to getting another sedate day at home behind me. With my laptop all set up and jacked into the appropriate network, I set out and grabbed breakfast. Work was proceeding normally. It was shaping up to be a productive day. I remember posting something funny on my Instagram. I also made a post on a watch forum I go to. Everything was normal.
Out of the blue the house phone started ringing. The caller ID said it was my dad’s cell. I answered, expecting a conversation about dinner or doing something around the house. It wasn’t my dad, it was a man named Jeff from his work. He was calling to ask some things about Dad because he said he had a seizure at work. I immediately thought that he must have had an allergic reaction to something. Dad had told me he went to the new Instacare down on Highland Drive. I thought they gave him something for his cold, but I didn’t know what. Jeff handed the phone off to one of the paramedics. He asked me things about my dad’s medical history. Did he do drugs, or have alcohol problems? Has anything like this ever happened before? By that time my mind had latched onto the allergic reaction theory so I was walking around the house looking for a pill bottle or a box of something so I could tell the paramedic. I remember he told me they were worried because my dad was behaving strangely. I guess he was resisting them and making grunting noises, “like a gorilla.” It’s clear to me that they had no idea or made no assumptions about whether or not the seizure was from a ruptured aneurysm. I was instructed on where my dad was being taken. I told the paramedic I would be coming down to Lone Peak (the ER) right away.
After the call I remember being uncertain about what was going on. I couldn’t decide if I should fly down there in my pajamas or not. I ended up taking the time to change into some jeans. I also brushed my teeth. In retrospect these seem like amazingly stupid things to do. I do know now that those extra few moments spent at home were not consequential in any way as far as what state my dad would be in when I finally got to the hospital.
When I arrived at the ER in Draper I walked in to see one of my dad’s supervisors in a waiting room. He looked concerned. We got the attention of one of the people behind the desk and I was taken back to the patient area. They told me my dad was in getting a MRI or a CAT scan, or whatever. I stood and waited. A few minutes later I saw people wheeling a person on a bed around the corner. I knew it was my dad by the distinct high arch of his feet, which were poking out from underneath the blanket. His body was completely unanimated. The doctor began to explain to me that they had given him some medication that would paralyze him temporarily. This was a precaution to protect him from another seizure. His condition was instantly haunting. He was somewhat crooked on the bed, almost like a freeze-framed image of someone that had been squirming. His eyes were both open, but one was closed more than the other and they were glazed.
It’s June 14th now. I haven’t re-read this since. Life has carried on, as it usually does. I want to continue the story, but I find myself struggling. In the time since I last wrote my emotional focus has shifted a bit. I’m currently dealing with being separated from Lauren, my girlfriend of 4 years. The split was her decision.
I find it funny how one aching sense of loss feels just like any other. This one is a little different because I can still go see the person I’ve lost. My inability to change either situation is incredibly frustrating. Without going into detail, the breakup is more or less the result of my inability to see the use of marriage, among other things I did wrong. Lauren bore as much of our relationship as she could, then she couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve seen the error in my ways and am trying to fix it, but it’s not something that will change overnight, if it ever does. Right now the memories I have of those 48 hours in the hospital are somewhat shadowed by the aching in my heart.
For now, just listen to a few things I’ve learned from the death of my father, and the end of my relationship. Everything that has dawned on me in this new phase in my life is simple. Life tends to emerge from the scrum, all elegant and simple, when you give it a chance to show you what is important. The people you love are not permanent. Some of them are there only at the whim of biology. I haven’t diluted myself to being afraid that everybody I know and love will suddenly suffer aneurisms. I just recognize now that things that seem permanent or stable often are not. Do not love somebody half way. Don’t expect to have more time to slowly fix something in your life. Take action or be left behind.
In your romantic relationships, the same principles apply. Be bold. Don’t beat around the bush for too long because people have limits. Inaction has a cumulative effect on the psychology of a person who is waiting to act. I was afraid of marriage. I was afraid of a lot of things in my life and my relationship, so I sat on my hands. I didn’t want to leave my girlfriend, but I didn’t want to turn that corner with her either. I let uncertainty make my decisions for me and now I’m paying the price. She knows all of this, by the way. Will anything between us change now that I can see what is important to me? I hope so, but it seems like a long shot now. She is too important for me to not try anymore, even if it’s too late. I didn’t get the same chance to improve my relationship with my dad. There isn’t a lot of congruency between the shortcomings of these two relationships, but my failings are what tie them together. I just want to be able to fix this. I’ll tune back in again soon.
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