Four and a half weeks ago, I had a baby.
A week later, my mom called. Dad was in the hospital again, they had no idea what was wrong. I thought, “hey, it’s August.” Every year, he goes to the hospital in August. Every year, he comes home with a new treatment plan. It all works out. Right?
The next day, mom called to say it might be cancer. Again, some more. But they weren’t sure yet. They confirmed the next day – the cancer was back, for the third time in 7 years. Inoperable. They talked about chemo, radiation. Trying to buy more time.
Dad said no. Chemo might buy him a few more days, but he would be miserable. The doctor said he had 3, maybe 6 months. They sent him home with hospice. Mom called and told us to plan on an early Thanksgiving – come home in October.
The next day she called back and told us that Daddy said to come home in the next two weeks if we wanted to see him. So I called my brother, and we worked out travel arrangements so that we would all be home at the same time. Airline prices were such that it had to be Labor day weekend – we couldn’t afford the tickets earlier. So we made our plans, bought our tickets, and were ready to go home – my brother, coming from Missouri, and me and Chad traveling from Texas with two infants on a plane.
Mom called at 1am on Septmeber 1st. Daddy had a bad day – they thought maybe he had a stroke, his blood sugar was out of control, he was unconsious. She said he wasn’t goign to make it through the night, and she wanted to warn me.
I turned of my phone – I didn’t want to get the call, another call, in the middle of the night. I wanted to find out on my terms. I cried, for a long time, about Daddy not getting to meet Benjamin. I finally got some sleep – not much, but something. I got up to take Brianna to daycare – mom had called at 5am. I called her back, knowing what she was going to say. Daddy was gone.
The next two days were a blur of getting ready to go to Huntsville. We already had our plane tickets, but hadn’t booked the kennel, a hotel, someone to watch the cat, anything. Brianna and the baby still needed to eat, diapers needed to be changed, laundry needed to be done, and somewhere in all that I needed to eat, sleep, grieve, and buy Benjamin church clothes to wear to the funeral. Chad was working late, so I had the kids all evening. Busy. I just tried to stay busy, and not drown in the mundane details of everything.
All day both days I kept saying to myself – My dad died today. But I couldn’t say it to anyone else. I told Sarah that night when she brought food for dinner. I sent a text message to a friend to ask if she could watch the cat. I talked to my mom, a lot. I arranged to stay with family. Chad booked the kennel. I packed like crazy.
And we went home. To another blur – of visitation, funeral, and the usual crazy that accompanies time spent with family. We laughed, and cried, and everyone passed Benjamin around like a doll. They played Graverobber by Petra at the funeral, and I cried. I saw people I hadn’t seen in years and years, and they all had something nice to say about Daddy. It was lovely, and terrible, and exhausting. And then we came home.
The oddest things made me cry the last week. On the way home, in the Memphis airport, there were sailors in their dress whites, shipping out to some where, I’m guessing. They looked young, and indestructible, and an awful lot like my Daddy. I hear a song, or see some thing that reminds me of Daddy, and I cry some more.
In the end, I think I’m glad we didn’t make it home – I didn’t want to see Daddy like that, which I feel a little guilty for. I wanted him to see Benjamin – but I know that even if we had made it home, he probably wouldn’t have been able to “see” Benjamin. His vision was usually gone, in part or in whole. I know he can see him now, and he loves him just the same as if he were here with us.
It’s not that I’m sad for Daddy. He’s fine, better now than he was. He can see, he doesn’t hurt. I miss him. But we’ve lived apart for so long, I’m used to missing him in some way. I’m a little numb, actually. I haven’t had time to process how I feel, really, other than there’s a piece of me missing.
Life goes on. Chad worked late last night, and is working late tonight – dinners need to be made still, diapers changed, the baby needs to be nursed, laundry done, all the same as before. But I feel like I’m just going through the motions. There’s drama back home. Things are changing. Some changes are good, some aren’t the ones I would have chosen. I’m tired, all the time. I’m short tempered, and I cry at the drop of a hat. My head hurts. It’s normal, I guess – it’s only been a week. Maybe in another week, the anger will hit, or whatever the next stage is.
I’d rather hurt than feel nothing at all.
