It's almost 2am and I can't sleep... It's one of those nights I *must* get some sleep as tomorrow I will rise early; it's the boys' first day of school... The TV stations are all broadcasting 9/11 documentaries or films and found myself searching online for stories about 9/11.
It seems appropriate, even though I am not American, to remember and pray for those who lost their lives on that day 10 years ago.
I woke up in a bad mood today. All night last night I was dreaming not only of my dad but of my uncles who died of cancer a few years before my dad.
And as I was lying here, trying to sleep, I came to a stunning realization... Even though I watched my father die... even though I felt and saw him take his last breath, even though his heart stopped beating right under my fingertips, even though I felt it stop... it hadn't registered. I think I was (am?) in denial about what was going on... I think I was urging him on something, that wasn't release (death). I think at that moment, I thought if only he got to that point (died) everything would be ok, the next day my dad would be ok and back at his place, next to me... and we would talk about it and it would be a distant memory and we would live happily ever after...
Even though I was living it, it hadn't registered that this person was my dad... that my dad was not safe at home but dying right in front of my eyes and there would be no conversation and coffee tomorrow or ever again... These were my last moments with my dad... and even though I knew it... I didn't know it.
It is a lie things become better after a few days... It's been 16 days and I miss him more every day. I now remind myself more often that I cannot see him... that I cannot take him a plate of the food I just cooked. Heck, I've even stopped myself at the door, plate in hand.. I was getting ready to go downstairs to his apartment... then it hit me... he is not there.
It kinda seems appropriate to be so sad on this day, when half the world is mourning those who died 10 years ago... I wonder if the pain will ever be bearable...if I will be able to see his face in my head and just remember the good times, the jokes, his enthusiasm, his bubbly personality and just that... I am terrified that I will either forget the details or I will never be able to get the image of him dying/dead out of my head...
I can't find comfort. I am not sure I believe in the Afterlife at least as people portray it. Yet, I cannot stand the thought him just gone... Everything he was, everything he knew, everything he loved, everything he ever felt just whipped out the moment his heart stopped beating.
Was he dreaming maybe while in the comma? Could he hear us? Or was he, as the doctors say, already gone? He lasted 36hrs... his heart beat at 180 beats her minute for 36hrs... Was he aware and trying to live? To break out of it and come back? Or was it, as the doctors believe, just some lower brain parts that wouldn't quit, a strong heart and a few still working organs that made him last that long?
I was SO many regrets... I now realize I was in denial. I didn't really believe he was going to die when I called 911 on the 15th... I thought he would be treated and brought home... I didn't believe I was losing him when I didn't visit on the 24th... I SO wish I had. It will haunt me forever that I heard his voice for the last time two days before he passed. I could have had one more day with him... if only I knew and had visited on the 24th... but he was stable, nothing was worrying the doctors, nothing was showing them the end was near. He was in serious condition, yes, but nothing was pointing towards doom.
I guess it is easy for the dead. If there is an Afterlife, I do believe they live carefree as they should. The troubles of the world are theirs no longer... but for us, the living, the left behind, things are not that simple. We have a bunch of things to work through and at the end, we are changed and it is a painful lesson and a painful change. I must live with my remorse and my guilt that I could have done a better job... Maybe my insistence on not leaving his side those 36hrs from the time he went into the comma until his heart stopped beating under my fingertips, was my self-imposed punishment for not thinking for a moment this was it... For believing I had more time, for not telling him how much I loved him (although I told him over a million times in those final hours).
I will go ahead and admit it that I think he might be angry at me or worse, disappointed. And I so wish I had a sign from him, a dream, something, that he was ok, that he forgives me... but it's been days and it hasn't come. He is at peace but I am not... and it's ok during the day. So many things to do to keep the mind occupied... but now, at night, when even the pets are asleep, I am alone with my thoughts and I am troubled and tortured and I miss him so much... what I wouldn't give for a rewind, a do-over. I have so many things I wanted to ask him, so many things I wanted to tell him... he was my support, the screw holding me together...and now I am broken and unhinged and I don't know what to do anymore and how to find my footing again... but somehow I must keep putting one foot in front of the other and go on... because of the boys...