sie-sie86

[sie-sie86]

[sie-sie86]

[sie-sie86]

When I got the news today, I didn’t know what to say. So I just hung up the phone. I took a walk to clear my head, this is where the walking lead. Can’t believe you’re really gone. Don’t feel like going home. So I’m gonna sit right here, on the edge of this pier. Watch the sunset disappear. And drink a beer!

Luke Bryan

[sie-sie86]

Almost a year without you

May 16th, 2018

The day that will forever be embedded in my every being. Growing up I never pictured life this way. In my younger years I saw both of my parents living and making it to their elderly ages. I pictured both of them together forever and as grandparents. You were 64 years young and I was 31. A few years before... you started to cough a lot among many other symptoms. Different doctors with different diagnoses. Finally we found out that you had congestive heart failure. We had hoped that you could be fixed. That they could repair your broken heart and make you whole again. That you would be okay and be able to live life for many years down the road as pictured. Little did we know, that wouldn’t be the case. The first hospital that we went to, they didn’t want to operate. They said it would be too risky. After that we decided to get you to Mayo in Rochester. They did all sorts of testing and met with different doctors. They said that they would do the open heart surgery to repair your valves. The doctor said that you should be able to walk me down the aisle. You had your open heart surgery but things went downhill from there. A few months down the road, your lungs started to fill with fluid and they started to collapse. You had to have lung surgery. They said if the lung didn’t inflate all the way back up that you would only have little time left to live. A month and a 1/2 after your lung surgery things were not looking too good with how you were feeling. After a hospital stay in Illinois we got you down to Barnes Hospital in St. Louis, Missouri. You didn’t know if Mayo would take you back due to insurance. You appeared so frail and stumbled at times when you would walk. You had to have a room with a roomate. Maybe it was a good thing for you but we wished that we could have spent more time with you at your side. It was May, you wished to sit outside for a bit but it was against hospital policy. Doctors sometimes didn’t come in to see you until 9pm at night. They made you NPO then canceled  testing on you after you hadn’t eaten or drank in hours. This made you upset. You had so much hope that the ball was rolling. I was at your side that day. You were trying to help us with accomodations so we could be nearby and didn’t have to travel. You were ready to pack up and head to Mayo. Oh, how I wish I would have agreed with you Dad. I wish I would have packed your belongings and loaded you into my car for the drive to Rochester. You told me you were so upset you felt like crying. I must have just said it’s okay. I wish I would have done more than that, been there for you more than that. I wish I would have given you the biggest and warmest hug but seeing you upset made me upset and I had to leave the room to go cry not in front of you. I must have said I was going to get something to eat. Many times at the different hospitals seeing you upset I couldn’t handle it. I had to leave the room whether it was a gently cry in a bathroom stall or a fullblown shrieking sobbing in my car begging for you to be okay. 

After days of just laying in your bed at Barnes hospital they finally scheduled your second open heart surgery to put a tissue valve in because your mechanical valve failed. They said that this was a “suicide mission.” The other option was to do nothing and live for just a few months more. We all agreed to the surgery. We all had the hope that you would make it through. Before surgery we were at your side and you spoke to us one by one. You were joking around with the nurse like usual with the occasional smile. She said that she was going to have to take you home since you were so full of it. You told me to take care of mom. You said this numerous other times during past hospitalizations with your CHF. I listened but I didn’t really listen. You knew that things might go south but in my mind you were going to live forever. You told Derek the same, to take care of mom. Mom said you promised to come back. We gave our hugs and said I love you’s and traveled towards the elevators to go to the waiting room. As they wheeled you out I waved and you waved back. Little did I know that glimpse of them pushing you in that bed down the hallway with you waving at me back would be the last time I saw you alive. 

Matt decided that we should do something to try to keep my mind off things since the surgery would be long. We decided to go to the zoo since I had never been there before. I was hesitant at first but then decided that it would be okay to go. My brother said that he would contact us for updates. After awhile the first update was that things were going okay. Later in the afternoon my mom got a call that things were not looking good. My brother said that we needed to come back to the hospital now. Once we arrived back at the hospital their still were not any details. Just that last dreaded call that things were dire. After awhile I really don’t remember, things around the time are still kind of a blur due to the sudden shift from feeling hopeful to feeling extremely worried...the doctor directed us into a room and began to speak with us. From what I can remember overall she said that they put you in an induced coma (ECMO) due to a period of time where there was a lack of oxygen during surgery. They allowed us to go back to see you. I couldn’t handle looking at you like that. The tears flooded. The most tubes, lines and machines I have ever seen during my eleven or so years in the medical field. After seeing you we went back to the waiting room. My brother decided that he would stay there and that the rest of us should go back to the hotel room to get some sleep. It had to be 3, 4, or close to 5 in the morning when my brother got ahold of us and told us that it was time to say goodbye.... That they reopened you right there in that ICU room to operate due to bleeding that they couldn’t control. You were also having seizures that my brother witnessed... They had you on medications to keep your blood pressure up so we had the time to be there with you and tell you goodbye... This was the most traumatic experience that I have ever had to endure. Losing my grandmother Darlene was very hard on me then and for a long time afterwards. I thought her loss was devastating but having to say goodbye to my father was unimaginable. I just felt like I floated down that hallway unaware of my own steps. Going into that room seeing all the tubes, lines, machines and beeps keeping you alive for the moment. As I uncontrollably sobbed, saying no, no, no, arguing against you leaving, arguing against saying goodbye, kissing your forehead and seeing your last heartbeats turn into that flatline with the machine beeps of failure my world was and has been forever changed. 

I don’t know how it has almost been a year. Still to this day my wish is that maybe I am in a coma and that this is all a bad dream of mine. Maybe I will wake up soon and there he will be by my side smiling...glad that I have awoken. We all experience grief in life and many people are able to adapt. Throughout this almost year I have experienced all of the stages of grief and I guess that they will last in no particular order throughout the rest of my living days. I have been angry that he couldn’t be saved. I have felt guilty that I didn’t get him to Mayo. I have racked my brain with thoughts that maybe if he would have went there for his second open heart surgery then maybe he would still be alive today. I was numb for awhile after he passed. Then after awhile the sadness seeped in and has remained with me off and on since then. Something I haven’t told very many people and have been scared to share: I use to be hopeful and very spiritual about an afterlife, but when the first deep gut wrenching sadness set in...I began to wonder. I began to wonder if I will ever see my dad or deceased loved ones ever again. That maybe what I had with them was just that and there will be nothing more. With this thought I was broken to pieces for awhile and still am in a way. I use to fear my own death but not anymore. Grief of a loved one feels unbearable and when my time comes I will be ready to hopefully join my loved ones that I miss very much. I have had some signs. I have always been a “sign” kind of person and we use to live in a house where very weird things happened in a ghostly manner. So with my past experiences of living in such a house and the signs that I have experienced not only from my dad possibly but from other passed on loved ones I have been split between the war of is this all just a big coincidence or is there something more? Maybe this is a normal part of grief...feeling so down about life after death. I don’t know. But all I do know is that I wish I would have had more time. Looking back on life, my thoughts scurry with trying to remember and hold onto the memories of you. You are constantly missed more than ever and will always be loved and kept inside my heart with what heart of mine remains.