Processing

Unfortunately this post is not merely about Charlotte's shenanigans. It's an attempt to organize the thoughts swirling around my head (with the hope of being able to go back to sleep).

I received an email from my mom on Tuesday afternoon saying my dad had been admitted to the hospital for seizures. Those of you who have known me or my family know that my dad is regularly hospitalized...hence, my mom emailing the updates rather than even calling. I found this email a little more disturbing than usual since seizures weren't one of Dad's prior issues. Yesterday morning, I woke up to my phone buzzing under my pillow at 6:30 AM. It was an unknown Kentucky phone number. I knew immediately who it must've been and just stared at the screen. The buzzing stopped and seconds later the voicemail alert chimed. My dad had suffered a severe heart attack during the night and was not doing well. Somehow the DNR paperwork was never finalized, so the doctors and nurses brought him back and put him on life support. My mom worked with the doctor to get this sorted out and at 7 AM, Mom called to say Dad was taken off life support and was breathing on his own. I thought "Oh, here we go again. He'll be fine. Again." and asked Mom to call me in an hour. She called back at 7:25 and reality hit. He'd passed away. I have not actually said those words out loud yet. In fact, I haven't been able to even type ... he died. He's gone. There's no way good way to put it.

To back up, my dad has been sick for years. While I was in undergrad, he was hospitalized for something severe and the doctors told us to say goodbye. I spoke with a counselor then, sought support of friends, and sat in the hospital, waiting for the final word. Well, that time, as he has often since, he recovered. He's never fully returned to the dad he was when I was growing up, but he's stabilized. In all honesty, due to physical distance and emotional walls, things were never the same after that. Getting close meant having another heart-aching goodbye. We spoke on holidays and visited periodically, but my dad didn't have the physical strength to carry on long conversations and I didn't have the emotional strength to try to force him. This was at least 8 years ago. I've thought about the day my dad would die many times. I knew it would happen. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but somehow I was still unprepared.

Charlotte will never remember this grandfather and that hurts me. Thankfully, she doesn't have to grieve and mourn right now though which comforts me. I can't begin to think about how my mom must be coping with this. To lose Matt would mean to lose my world.

I don't know how people experience this sort of loss without faith. During one of Dad's moderately sick phases, I remember getting angry with God and protesting faith and religion. Then when my dad took the turn for the worst in college, I came running back to God desperate for some sort of consolation. I don't think God made my dad sick to hurt me. I don't think God intentionally hurts anyone. He's got some plan that I can't understand despite my constant attempts. He's put my dad in a place now where he's no longer in pain, and for that I'm grateful.

We leave in a few hours for Kentucky where I'm sure the next few days will be a blur. It's so easy to get wrapped up in the logistics of travel and funeral planning that the main event is forgotten. I hope I'll be able to spend some time really thinking about my dad and his life. It takes a conscious effort not to already think "Ok, I just need to get through the next few days." My dad held on to get through many years, he deserves more than a few days.