another dad one 


I’ve been doing this shit for four years now and I still get restless any night my dad spends in the hospital. Despite all the sleep medication I’m on, nothing makes the pain of losing someone you love duller.

Nights like tonight I find my mind has like a slide show of memories of me and my father. When I look back, I just imagine me as a little girl. My dad didn’t get sick until I was in college but when I think of the times my dad hasn’t been ill, I immediately go to when I was a kid. I remember the routine of seeing my father on my days from school.  I remember knowing exactly how my fathers footsteps sounded as he would walk up the stairs. It’s the really random little things that I never thought I’d have to recall. Just looking back on this innocence that whole time in my life was. I never was a little girl who created grown up fantasies where my father wasn’t in the picture. I never blew out the candles on my birthday cakes thinking that my birthdays with him would limited. I never thought death would be the distance that would be between us so soon. He was my dad, not a disease or a diagnosis, just my dad.

Now everything is different. The same kitchen where my dad used to dance and do the dishes with me is covered in pill bottles, opened bills, planners and emergency phone number post it’s. The living room where we spent most of our time is now set up as a bedroom for my dad. Those things I can handle. Looking at a man whose hospital bracelet matches the name of my father and barely being able to recognize him is what’s hard. If I could paint a picture in words of who that man used to be then you would agree that the father who twirled me in the kitchen, drew sea cows in my lunch box, fought with me, and guided me is gone. And what’s left is a shell of a broken spirit who is trying to hold on minute by minute. 

That man had tumors from his brain removed today. There’s a high possibility that he may become blind after this. I want you to imagine his life now. He can’t work but his wife does all day, he can’t drive, and he can’t see. For 4 days a week, what will be his life. I can’t imagine the anger and frustration I would have if my basic senses were being taken away from me one by one. Stuck in a world that progressing as you digress into your illness. My heart breaks for that. 

Then my heart selfishly breaks for me. My dad won’t be able to look me in the eye ever again. He’ll never see my husband or boyfriend or my kids. The traditions that we have involve driving and movies and those days are over. He’ll never see me. When he is dying and if we have a last conversation he’ll never see how much I love him. Just another piece of him that has washed away before I got to say goodbye. I want my father to live but not as the man he is now. I want the father I grew up with to be resurrected and this man I see with his hospital bracelet to rest in peace. 

Sorry for yet another dad post. It’s all i can think about right now. Also sorry for any grammar issues, I typed this on my iPhone.

One response »

  1. My heart breaks reading this. My mum passed away from cancer 5 years ago – it’s one of the hardest things… seeing someone you love deteriorate infront of your eyes. I’m so sorry

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