Trigger warning: I’ll be discussing the passing of my dad that may be a trigger for those that are grieving.
Today marks the 1 year anniversary of dad’s death.
It feels like it was yesterday and a million years ago all at once. I don’t know if that makes sense, but I can’t think of a different way to describe it. Rather than talk about the academic or clinical side of how my heart and mind feel, this week, I just want to talk about the last 24 hours I had with him.
Let’s go back to February 14, 2020. My amazingly patient and understanding significant other took me to a potsticker restaurant across the street from my parent’s house where I’d basically lived for the previous 2 weeks. Once I got back to their house, my mom, siblings, & myself sat around talking, laughing, & reminiscing.
Valentine’s night was my turn for the night watch. This meant I stayed up while everyone got some sleep & dad was medicated every hour. At this point, we were making him as comfortable as we could. He wasn’t eating anymore and his muscles were permanently seized. So I sat next to him watching Netflix documentaries, talking to him about the subject matter, and cross-stitching. It was serene & heart-breaking. I was happy that he wasn’t feeling the pain but knew that his life was coming to an end.
Around 3 AM on the 15th, his breathing changed. I started to hear the rattle. I opened his eyes a bit & they didn’t respond to the light. It was just the 2 of us in the quiet. I just sat there crying and holding his hand. I talked to him even though I don’t know if he could hear me. I assured him that mom would be taken care of. I told him how it hurt to see him in uncontrollable pain. I thanked him for being my biggest cheerleader for finishing school & that I couldn’t have done it without him. And then I absorbed the weight of the moment and understood that he was starting to let go. All of the little moments I’d had with him during his decline flooded my brain & I was sharing the memories with dad.
As everyone else started waking up, they came into the living room & we started chatting. By the time everyone was up, it was clear that we had reached the end. It was a somber day but was filled with so much love. We sang his favorite songs, shared stories, & just reveled in being together.
In the afternoon, I needed to go home to shower & change since I hadn’t in almost 2 days. While I was in the shower, I got the call. My sister left me a voicemail message simply saying: He’s gone. A few minutes later, I drove back to my parent’s house. Dad was surrounded by loved ones, being held by his soulmate & wife of almost 55 years.
Ever the prankster & numbers guy, he died at 5:12 on 2/15.
Although we were sad & kind of in shock, there was a feeling of relief. After watching dad decline & waste away so rapidly (within a year), he wasn’t in pain now. He wasn’t lost or confused now. His fight was over.
My relationship with dad was only about 5 years old when he died. We had a lot to overcome before we were ready to get to know each other. And being there in that last year taught me that it truly is never too late to start over. By working through our past, we had a relationship built on honesty & authenticity. His positivity & trust during the most vulnerable time of his life humbled me. He never missed an opportunity to tell anyone who would listen how much he loved his wife & family.
He ended his life with grit, grace, & love.
So that’s all I wanted to share this week. Sometimes just getting those feelings & thoughts out into the world is comforting. And maybe someone who is grieving may read this & can take comfort in knowing that it’s not just them going through this.
We will all grieve in this life. And expressing our feelings can help us ride those waves as they come.
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