New Normal

There have been many moments of discussion over the past several months as to how I believed things would feel and pan out in the aftermath of losing dad.  I’ve had overwhelming feelings of clarity and comfort in knowing things would be ok.  As far as the business part of death, that remains the same.  I do know that things will be ok.  The emotional side, which I typically feel very intellectual about, I’ve felt that it could go one of two ways.  I expected either a full retreat of emotions or an all out invasion.  Here I sit, feeling nothing more than a body floating above reality and under the reality I want.

I sat in the tub shortly after the funeral home took his body.  The smell of shea and vanilla breathed into my lungs and caressed my soul.  I sat for several minutes without moving.  Tears flowed at an even pace that was futile to stop.  I let them flow.  I’m sure the expression on my face was alarming in the fact that I probably looked catatonic.  For a while, I felt that way.  Eyes open, spilling moisture, I stared blankly at the dripping water coming from the faucet and thought, “What now?”

Speaking with my siblings about them not going to work the next day, I thought to myself, “My job just changed.”  I said that aloud.  Joel answered, “You just adopted two kids.”  Yes, I did.  Even though I had known that this was an inevitable fact, nearly immediately upon knowing dad was sick, the physical manifestation of it struck me with such shock, that I’m still feeling the tremors.  I’ve been actively involved in their lives for the past year, but with apprehension.  Dad had been there and was still a buffer between my actual responsibilities for them and the fact that dad was still able to parent.  Teetering between those two plateaus has been a balancing act of respect and pending responsibility.

Today is different.  No one is here but who lives here.  Those who have come to visit and have taken partial residence over the past few days have returned to their daily routines.  When my mother died, I was anxious to be put to use.  I hovered and fussed over my siblings and dad.  For two weeks I felt helpless and unnecessary.  When I decided to return to my own home, my dad said to me, “I’m not wanting you to go home, but I need to feel how things are going to be without you here.”  At that time, it hurt me.  It felt as though I wasn’t a cog in what was his normal life.  But the truth is, I wasn’t.  I didn’t live in his house.  My presence was outside of normal.  It wasn’t until last night that I understood exactly what he meant.

Though, I would love to delay the full ramification of this new reality to set in, I need to have the sense of what to expect with the cast members being the ones who it will be for the rest of this time.  As I said goodnight to people last night, I breathed in a sigh of apprehension as I entered the home in its new state.  The medical equipment is gone.  There aren’t sounds of a man fighting for his life.  The space he was residing in is empty and in need of a little cleaning.  The whole feel of that room is foreign.  Even though dad was only in that space for a little over a month, it feels like he was there forever.  Weird.

Last night I slept horribly.  I kept waking to sounds dad would make.  When I would come out of the sleep daze and recognize that he wasn’t making those noises, I would whimper and go back to sleep.  Needless to say, it was a long night.  Dreams of him and what has passed are going to plague my subconscious for some time.  I know this.  I’ve been here before.  I still hate it.

Because of the spiritual support I feel daily, my morning was greeted with my two best friends texting me to check on me.  I almost cried as I read those messages of concern.  They were inspired to drop me a line.  I’m so grateful for the intuition they recognize and act on.  They know me and know that being left alone is bad for me.  I am never going to lose sight of the powerful friendships I have in each of them.

There are many adjustments on my horizon.  I know that as soon as there is any stability obtained, it will be temporary.  Joel will graduate this May and hopefully move into his adulthood with a plan or at least an intention.  Then, life will continue to evolve.  Some ways in accordance with expectation and others with a little less foresight. 

March 11, 2014

At 4:00 pm yesterday afternoon, my dad passed away.  He had a very high fever that I could not get under control.  My siblings will all be here by early next week and we will discuss the arrangements for a service.  He wanted us to cremate, so there will not be a viewing.  As soon as I know what the plans are for his memorial, I will post it here. 

This is all still sinking in.  It’s going to be a few days at least before the reality of this fully hits.  Once I have a little more of a grip on what we’re going to be next, I’ll share more about my feelings.  I’m still in a state of “business” with this for a little while longer.

Thank you for you love, support, and words of encouragement.  I can’t see us not needing that for a while yet.  It’s still sinking in that we no longer have either of our parents.

The Close

Friday, March 7^th dad was pleasantly surprised by the arrival of all three of his brothers.  Though he knew all week that his brothers were coming, his confusion and disconnect over that week prevented him from remember who was coming when the day came.  It was awesome to see his face light up with pure joy as he soaked in the faces around him.  That was the last time we got to see him smile.  That night, he slipped into what is his final stage.

He hasn’t been coherently awake since Friday night.  He hasn’t eaten since then either.  His body is weak and tired and very uncomfortable.  He spikes fevers daily that are becoming increasingly difficult to control.  His lungs are full of fluid and when he breathes, it sounds like a toddler blowing bubbles into their chocolate milk.  He wakes up intermittently to adjust his weary body.  His eyes are blank and lost. 

Given the state of his being, I’m not sure how long it will be before his body quits.  It is very hard to watch him breathe, as it is no doubt a significant struggle.  I have the ability to get him comforted through medication, but unfortunately there is only so much I can do to completely control that.  About every two hours, he stirs and moans in discomfort and pain.  It takes a little while to get him resting again. 

Joel and Rachel have been my diligent nursing assistants.  They take turns sleeping in the living room with him so they can watch him and so he sees them when he wakes up.  This is a difficult thing for all of us to watch.  We are in this perpetual state of limbo as we watch our father fight to stay here.

At this time, what is best for us is to be left to grieve and spend these final moments with dad.  There has been an outpouring of support and folks that want to come visit, and we appreciate all of it!  His state is volatile and moment-to-moment.  We are making every effort to keep the house calm and quiet for him.  In the coming days as we approach the close of this, we will be more inclined for visitors and I will let you know when we will be ready for that.  In the meantime, I hope it doesn’t offend anyone that we would like to be closed in for a bit.

These past months, dad has mentioned individual people that he has been impacted by.  It has been wonderful to reminisce about happy times and memories that lasted.  Having him back in Sierra Vista has sparked a lot of wonderful thoughts for him.  Being back in the house that he and mom were last healthy in has also been a source of great joy.  The folks that have come to see him have given him emotional warmth that has been invaluable.  Thank you to those who have made the time to share a minute with him.

We still have our fundraiser open for those who wish to help out.  The overall intention of the fundraiser has been to help support us through his transplant phase.  Since that has gone by the wayside, the focus of that will be to help Joel and Rachel finish high school, prepare for adulthood, and provide some emotional support.  No pressure whatsoever, but anything given is received 10 fold in gratitude.

If you have any photographs of my parents and or father, please email them to me.  We have a lot of pictures, but there can never seem to be enough.  Looking through our family’s history via pictures has been so much fun and helps bring us to see the beauty of so many wonderful experiences our family has shared over these past 34 years.  Seeing our family through the eyes of another’s lens is so neat, so please share what you have!

Today

The difficulty I am having with writing this blog, is that it is hard to put into words what has transpired since my last.  I’ve sat down countless times over the past few weeks and struggled to adequately tell what goes on day-to-day here. 

Two of dad’s brothers were here last weekend.  Also, for the first time since mom died, all seven children were in the same room together.  Spouses, grandchildren, posterity surrounded dad for three whole days.  A couple weeks prior to that, his sister and her husband were here.  The visiting of family members has been a beacon to which dad looks to daily.

It was a palpable feeling to be sitting in my living room with my brothers and sisters all together.  Family started to arrive on Thursday night of last weekend.  Friday afternoon, we found out that dad is more than likely in renal failure.  Our time with dad would be even shorter than we had anticipated. 

I had ironically just mentioned to my family members earlier that day, that if I allowed my emotions to fully manifest themselves, I wouldn’t be able to recover for a while.  Standing on my front porch and learning that dad’s health is dire, broke my emotional wall and the tears poured like a tsunami wave.  Days.  We have days.  I paced around for several minutes before I could find the energy to tell my siblings of what is happening.  It was hard to see the faces that were so happy to see each other, suddenly bear the expressions of heartache and woe.  We all sobbed together as we let my dad know what was happening to him.

Since then, he has had peaks and valleys.  He bounced for the weekend and then crashed as soon as family began to depart.  I expected that to happen.  Emotional highs are usually followed by emotional lows when coping with one’s own death.  The abundance of support that he is feeling is strong.  He thrives on the presence of his children.

This past week has been progressively down hill.  He is sleeping most of the day and eating what he’s able to have to energy to do.  His pain is mostly managed.  He has had spurts of breakthrough pain that hasn’t been fun for him, but we are working hard to minimize that from happening.

This experience is nothing short of surreal.  I feel like I’m having an out of body experience every day.  The energy I have comes and goes.  I’m surprised at how much I can do on very little sleep.  Each day I’m watching him like a mother watches a newborn baby.  Those first few weeks of parenthood are ripe with anxiety and nervousness.  It’s the only thing I know to compare this to. 

Rachel and Joel have stayed home from school this week to be with dad.  It has been good to have them take turns sleeping on the couch so dad can see them when he wakes up intermittently throughout the night.  Jacob is here, too.  Sam and Sarah will be here in a little less than two weeks to stay.  They are relocating to help with dad and to be close when the time comes to gather as siblings and hold each other up.  Isaac is able to get here quickly when he needs to and is helping tremendously with Sam and Sarah’s move to Sierra Vista. 

We have dinners brought to us regularly and the help that brings is immeasurable.  Not having to cook during these times takes a load off each of us.  There is constant inquiry as to what we need and when I am able to figure out what those needs are, I ask.  Most of the time I have no idea what to say.  The way our family is pulling together, I don’t feel like we have any voids that need filling.  At least I can’t think of anything tangible.

There are a lot of people that want to know how he is doing and if they can come to visit.  I’m afraid to say that he’s disinclined to see anyone at this point.  The energy it takes to stay awake to talk to anyone is tedious and he reserves that for his kids and eating.  Though, I wish I could say that we’d love to have you over to chat, that time has passed.  Emails and text messages are how I relay things to him from people that want to contact him.  So, that is totally acceptable to do. 

The kids are doing ok, all things considered.  They are getting ample support from the avenues in which they are comfortable and I’m very grateful for those connections.  They never cease to amaze me when it comes to their tenacity.  I’m immensely proud of their composure and grace they emulate as they go through this difficult time.   If you get the chance, get to know them.  They will amaze you.

My daughter has been equally as graceful in her support and understanding of my shortcomings this past year.  I know that I have shirked some of the depth I am capable of when it comes to being a mother.  She has been forgiving of that and I’m very grateful to her.  Alex has adapted well to the conditions he lives in.  He understands the need for quiet play and respect for grandpa while he sleeps.  I really have amazing kids.

On the whole, our family is surviving each day, well.  Sure, we have our flaws and chinks in our armor, but who doesn’t?  The way we have bonded through this and will continue to be is something I’m very proud of.  We have come together well and it’s a comfort to know we have each other.  I’ve learned from each of my siblings.

Time is precious.  We all hear and read that constantly.  I don’t think the depth of that statement really makes itself prominent until we are faced with the end of something.  Whether it is the end of a life, relationship, or any bond, we should cherish each moment and treat it with such delicacy that it is a crown jewel we get to borrow for a time.  The amount of gain I’ve received by bonding with my dad this past year is beyond words and value. 

I’ve learned a true meaning of forgiveness and the definition of sound mind.  The way I have been enlightened to the nature of my own being has been validating and supremely testimonial.  If there was ever any doubt as to who I am as a person, that doubt has been burned and scattered.  My dad has given me powerful words to let me know what I mean to him.  There’s something to be said about that.  I’ve blogged in the past about being validated.  I feel there is such importance in being heard and understood.  Throughout my dad’s struggle with the remaining days of his life, he’s managed to validate me in ways I didn’t know were possible.  Gift.