Missing Dad

Tonight I was cleaning out the office and got to the part of filing more papers for Dad's estate. It's almost over, as soon as I receive the disbursement check, it'll be done. While I am still feel angry and betrayed by how the whole thing has been handled, I am glad we didn't fight it. And really, I know how unhappy Dad was. I don't need money to make me happy. I have my family heirlooms and other things that keep him close. But I miss the crap out of the old man.

So, I was going through all these totally boring legal papers and totally cried. Things happen all of the time that make me want to call him. I still think of buying him Christmas presents and cards. I'm taking physics this term and would LOVE to talk to him and have him teach me all these things that I don't seem to grasp. I find pictures all the time, old ones, ones with the kids... It all just makes his death seem pointless and horrible. And it was. He basically killed himself, and I'm left to pick up the pieces of my life. It's been over two years, and I still feel so incomplete.

I sound crazy, but I'm always talking to him. I honestly believe he's with me and can hear me. I know that there are times he's trying to be heard, but I am not yet ready to hear.

So, grief is unabated. Life goes on.

Just in case...

This is for all of you who may find this in my comments to the GCRG's biggest fan, Dirk. If you decide to visit here, it's fine by me. I just want to warn you, most of this blog was done during some very hard times in my life. The more recent posts are about the death of my dad. I'd love it if you read them. They are very important to me as are all of you.

I don't think I'll be updating here a lot. That's what I use MySpace for. But you are welcome in my thoughts anytime. Even though they won't be very current thoughts.

I gotta update my pictures, my hair was short!

Green Eyes

That's what I remember most from that night. How green his eyes looked and how green mine became from crying so hard.

That's actually something Jason pointed out to me. When I'm really upset, my eyes look green.

I always wanted the same color of eyes as Dad, they were so pretty.

He couldn't talk, but he conveyed so many messages with his eyes. He'd watch us, he'd cry, he'd beg us to let him go.

So, I feel guilt. Guilt that I didn't go back the night before. Guilt that I didn't go ahead and ask the Doctor to find the bleed. Guilt that I pushed everyone and got bitchy to take him off the respirator. Guilt that I didn't keep him on, just in case they could stabilize him and test and get a new liver.

I know we did the right thing. It's obvious he wanted to die. He drank himself into oblivion.

Money does not buy happiness. Genius MDs don't make you happy. The only place that happiness truly sleeps is in love.

Dad didn't know how to love. His parents weren't all that good at showing their feelings. His mother more than his father. I loved my Grandaddy so much. A man of music, bald spots, sloppy kisses and quiet love. Dad would say (much later) that Grandaddy showed more affection to the neighborhood kids than to him. Grandmother was just a socialite bitch. But I loved her too.

I don't sleep all that well anymore. I see his eyes begging for death. I see him bleeding out and see all that blood. I can smell the shit, piss and blood oozing through the tubes. I hear the breaths that slowed to 30 minutes apart, I hear the monitor beeping with his strong heart. I understand that each organ is shutting down because they are all dependant on the liver. I feel the void where he once was.

I'm sitting in my father's chair. I can see the paintings that his beloved Aunt Ooo did (he couldn't say Elizabeth). Shit, I got as much of his furniture as I could (even though that bitch made me pay for the family heirlooms... that's a whole other shit storm). But I can't feel him. Not like I could when he was alive.

We didn't talk a ton. We're both sucky at mailing things. He didn't visit a lot, and I didn't fly down there much. But we'd mended our fences. And I knew that I could call him anytime and he'd be there. He knew the same of me.

When he was drunk he'd call and cry. When his electrolytes rose he would call and be confused. When I had any medical questions, I could call for answers. When Joe (my Grandpa) was really sick and I was supposed to go on a family vacation with Jason's side, Dad was the one who cleared my mind and made me realize that my place is always with my children. And that my decisions were mine, no one should be pushing me to do all these other things.

I honestly didn't think that his death would change my life so much (I've most likely said this before). But there is a huge space in my heart.

I've had to parent both of my parents. But in those moments that he was all together, he was a great Dad. I wish that he could have been after his marriage with Mom ended. But I have some memories of before. And some wonderful ones from after our rift.

Carol and I both took a bunch of pictures from the house. The dirty whore gave us the rest (without charging!). He clumped each kid's pictures together. He had them of each of us.

There was a stack of me. In it was one that I didn't remember. He'd caught me from behind and there is whipped cream (from a pie fight) all over us. And we're laughing. I think that I remember that day (and I don't remember a lot from those days). I framed it, it's on my desk.

My house is starting to look like a shrine. But he had a lot of really nice things. And I want his tobacco, that he'd saved since he stopped smoking his pipes years and years ago, to be out so I can smell it. I want the pictures out. His uniforms, his medals, the half of ashes that I have.

Everyone wants me to go see Joe. He's not doing well. And I don't want to. The strongest memory of Grandmother is a horrible fight we got into about Dad not seeing us. Of Grandaddy, is him in a coma and looking so frail. Of Granny, is of her dead in a hospital bed and the damn respirator making her have a breath. Of my Dad it's the suffering in his green eyes.

Right now, my strongest memory of Joe is when we went to see him right before Carol and I flew to Texas that first time when we found out about Dad's drinking. Dad was in the hospital, and I was constantly on the phone getting information, talking to everyone. Joe was in his chair and I was behind him. The sweet blind man held my hand and told me he wished he could make it all go away. I cried on his bald head. I hadn't felt that close to him in so long. I don't want to ruin that memory. I need it.

I know that's selfish. That he wants to feel me near. My schedule is crazy 'til after school starts. Maybe by then I'll have healed a bit. At least getting some real sleep.

So back to the eyes. I cried in the hospital bathroom a lot. My eyes were green. From shit-brittle-brown to green. I cry a lot, and they haven't hit that particular shade again.

It seemed that most of the scene in front of me was grey, except his eyes. They were startling tragic and green.

Does it ever stop?

Another night of sleeplessness. I'm sad. I miss him so much. Even though we didn't talk a lot, we always knew that the other was there. Now, I can't call him. I can't bear to erase his numbers from my cell phone. Or from the wipe board on the fridge. I wish I'd grabbed the recorder from his house. His voice was on it. I miss his voice. I left so many things there, because at the time, I thought I'd be back. I thought I'd be able to be in his house, with his things. I coulnd't take things that I thought he'd want to stay. I wanted to keep that house his home. Now it's on the market and soon, it won't be his. More and more I feel pain. I spend so much time either avoiding or crying. I miss his voice. Fucking hell.

"Will I Lose My Dignity? Will Someone Care? Will I Wake Tomorrow from this Nightmare?" ~Rent

I've been wrestling with myself on whether or not to do this. I may end up depressing everyone out there. But, I'm thinkin' it could be good for me to do.

On March 16th my Dad passed away. He really was a great man. But he had problems with lonliness, expressing himself and being a workaholic. Somewhere in all that, he became an alcoholic.

My sister and I didn't even know until 2 years ago when we got this crazy emergency call from his fiancee. We rushed to Texas. He was in the hospital due to rectal bleeding and they found that the alcohol had done some serious damage. His liver, stomach and esophagus were unrepairable. He was told, one more drink and he wouldn't last more than 5 years.

We got him into an outpatient program. His finacee could no longer be with him. So, we called a lot to check in on him.

He seemed to be doing so much better. He was no longer crying when he talked to us, he called us a lot, and he just seemed happy.

Dad did start sounding odd not too long ago. He said that his electrolytes were low and that it wasn't alcohol related. Hey, addicts never lie.

Carol and I got a call in Jan. Dad had some confusion in an airport and his secretary had to call the airlines to help him out. They took him to a Houston hospital. Carol left for Texas to see what she could do.

Carol and Erin (his ex-fiancee but good friend) took Dad to the Dr. Carol called me that night at work to tell me that without a liver transplant he only had 3 - 6 months to live.

Dad didn't make it a month. I had plans to see him the week after he passed. I made an emergency trip to Texas on Tuesday morning. My younger brother was there on spring break and I had to get there for him and Dad. Mostly Dad.

I went to see Dad Tuesday. Things weren't looking good at all. His kidneys were in the process of shutting down. But, the docs seemed hopeful that he'd make it through the transplant evaluation and possibly to transplant.

That liver is a handy organ. Possibly the most important. When it doesn't work the amonia levels rise in the brain, the blood isn't filtered from the bad stuff and the organs start shutting down one by one.

I went back to the house that afternoon. I told Dad I'd try to get back out to see him that night. He wasn't all that lucid... he mumbled something to me. I went to the grocery store and then the house. I was so tired and stressed by other things and poor Dad that I decided to stay there for the night. I wish I'd gone back, he was aware and talking a bit that evening.

Carol and Robert were driving into town Wednesday. I went to see Dad that afternoon and the prognosis seemed so hopeful. His kidneys were working, they just had to get those amonia levels down. He was totally out of it, but things were looking up.

I went back to the house to wait for Carol and Robert. Then all together we went back to the hospital.

By the time we got there, Dad wasn't in his room. Possible stroke and he was bleeding from somewhere. He went into respiratory arrest (which is common for liver patients). When they got him back, his eyes were all yellow and unblinking. He was on a respirator (he hated that, we could tell). We made the decision not to have the doctor search for the bleed, Dad wanted NO unneccesary actions.

Long story made sorta shorter, we had Dad taken off the respirator at 11:45pm. This was after we confirmed that there was no hope. Through those hours he was on it, we could see him watching us... unblinking. We apologized for keeping him on it. I wiped the tears from his eye that was crying. All I wanted to do was let him die.

Dad passed at 2:45am. I know this for a fact because I saw the electrical pulses fade from the heart monitor. The hospital's official time is 3am.

I'm 33 years old and I lost my father. When we found out how serious it was, I thought that maybe it wouldn't make a huge difference in our lives since he lived so far away. But it does. I feel part of myself missing. There was a comfort knowing that he was there when I wanted to talk to him. Now I can't.

My kids will never know their Granddaddy. They loved him, but never got to know him. I'll forever wish I'd stayed with him that night. Just for some last words from him. Just to hear him say he loved me, one last time.

Here is why I'm putting this here. He escaped from his pain in alcohol. I find myself trying to hide my pain all the time. I have a real aversion to crying in public or showing negative emotions altogether. I feel like I'm burdening my friends with my problems, that they wouldn't want to know. Even though I always want to know theirs. I don't want to fall into that trap. I'm going to be making a real effort to express those bad things more.

Also, I know that some of you are heavy drinkers. I know that some have small children, some don't. I'm now going to go into some horrific details of what it is to die of end stage liver disease. You need to know.

The amonia levels in the brain rise. People can become nasty mean and overly confused. Thier conversations travel in circles because they rarely remember what's been said.

The treatment for this, lactulose, makes you have to poo all the time. Dad was trying to wean himself off this stuff because he hated living on the pot. It was that or die.

So, they were giving him the lactulose. He was shitting himself. They had to keep cleaning him up. When the poo became more liquid then they inserted a tube. I could watch it coming out of him and into the bag. I saw the blood come through with it.

The bilirubin levels rise. That yellow skin and yellow eyes is jaundice.

Dad had to have his esophagus banded. Surgery to band the veins so that he wouldn't bleed out.

He lost his sense of balance. The night before he went to the hospital, he face-planted in a parking lot. The side of his face was horribly bruised.

The water retention called ascites is horrendous. Laying on that bed, Dad had a belly the size of mine when I was 9 months pregnant. Full of air and fluid. Many times the doctors can drain you. The stomach, the ankles...

Dad was losing a lot of blood. He was filling 1000 cc cups rapidly. At one point, blood started seeping out of his mouth. It got heavier and heavier. Blood was everywhere. All over him and the floor. I had to see this.

My dog died with more dignity. This is a man who was a fucking genius. He went to accelerated med school. He retired as a colonel from the Air Force. He made himself a name in the world of medical research, engineering and as an expert witness. No fucking dignity in this. I would have wanted it over too.

letter

This issue was resolved very soon after I wrote it. I talked to Dad and he was telling me everything I needed to know without prompting. We were planning me to visit for the week of March 19th. That week we were going to discuss his wishes and go to the evaluation appointment and just hang out. Dad died the 16th.

Dear Dad,

I have to tell you that right now I'm feeling shut out. Hearing about what is going on third person is driving me batty.

Carol told me that you don't want me there for the transplant evaluation and all because you don't want me to be there for all the death talk. If you absolutely don't want me there, then I'll respect your wishes. But I want to be there for you. I need to help you through this. No matter which way it goes. Because I'm feeling like I'm being cheated on time. We've grown close over the past several years, and I'm selfish... I want more.

I spent most of my teenage years wanting you around. I honestly have no idea why things turned out the way they did. Then, with Emily and the subsequent events over the years, we've worked out a great relationship. One that I treasure immensely.

I've learned to accept what I can't/couldn't have and love what I do have.

While it pains me to know you are dying, I can accept it. And I would like do anything and everything I can to help you. And that includes being with you for any and all appointments, and hopefully, surgeries.

Not telling me things, Not being absolutely truthful with me... hurts me more than helps me. I'm your daughter, so you know I'm not stupid. Give me a few more days on the internet and I'll be an expert about liver disease. Useful little tool, that internet. I know about acites, encephalopathy, electrolytes and even what a MELD is. I know that high amonia levels cause your brain to go wonky. Heck, you could even end up with black feet.

A litte knowledge is a dangerous thing. Without facts about you and your case, I can only speculate. And Jason can tell you, letting me speculate is worse than anything. He could be running late from work, and I'll be in a panic. My imagination is way worse than reality.

If you want me or need me for anything, I'll be there. I have people in place to help out with the kids. I'm here for you no matter what. I love you more than you could ever know.

...

For the past few months I've noticed that my father was behaving strangly, again. About 2 years ago, Carol and I flew down when he was hospitalized for rectal bleeding. On top of that, his drinking was going to kill him.

His Girlfriend, Erin, decided she'd had enough. Can't blame her there. But, there were some instances with her that were not pleasant. They broke up, but are still friends. Even though she hadn't seen him since Christmas.

Fast forward to this drama. Carol got a call from Erin that Dad was in a hospital in Houston. He'd gotten confused at the airport with gate changes (the man practically lives in airports) his secretary got a hold of the airline, and they decided to take him to the ER.

Confusion = sign of Cirrhosis.

long story cut even shorter. Today they went to the doctor. I don't really know what all was involved. But the short of it is, Dad has to have a liver transplant, or he will die in 3 - 6 months.

I can barely describe all that's going through me. Initially, I just broke down. At work of all places. Jason had Carol call me there. I told him I wanted to know things. Good thing I was only in for scanning.

I was 12 when Dad left. Before that, he was my hero. I was Daddy's girl and thought the absolute world of him. For some reason (the kid in me still blames my step-mother) he stopped seeing us after a couple of years. I barely found out they were moving to TX before it happened. I eloped partially because I was scared he wouldn't show up to give me away. He and his wife didn't go to my step-sister's funeral, why come to my wedding?

So, lots of baggage there. Lots of pain and heartbreak. More in there... but trying to get to the meat.

When I was pregnant with Emily, I decided that I wanted her to know her Grandaddy. So, I started aggressively calling him and working toward reconciliation (honestly, I don't know if he thought we needed reconciled). It wasn't until Abby's birth and Dad's subsequent run in with prostate cancer that he started coming to me.

With the prostate cancer, he went through another divorce.

People, don't marry the ones you cheat with. It's just stupid.

My stepmother and half-brother left for Colorado. Dad and I talked a lot. I had my father back.

There's been drama since. And always him needing me. I've only had 5 years of him. Sadly, spent apart... but we talked. I felt better about our relationship than ever. And now I find out I could only have 3 - 6 months.

So, that pisses me off. And on top of that, that he did this to himself. Another genius bites the dust.

He doesn't want the transplant. Acutally, when I finally talked to him tonight, he acted like there were other options. He said the surgery was too dangerous, that he could die. Well, duh. He's gonna die without it. But, he's in denial. He's a fucking brilliant doctor, he knows.

While I do not want to lose him, I have very mixed feelings about him receiving a donor liver.

First, he destroyed his. He's been depressed, he's extremely lonely, and too damn smart for his own good. He's 61.

I'd rather someone with a non-self-inlficted liver condition get one. I suspect that's part of his reasoning as well. And doctors have problems with death. Someone would have to die for him to live.

one of my main problems is he doesn't want to tell our brother. WTF. CJ will be there in a couple of weeks (first time since he moved). Dad needs to tell him. I'd be sooo pissed if I found out the rest of the family knew and not me.

I love my father so much. He's a bit fucked up, but he's mine.

This disease is going to rip him apart. He's already jaundiced and retaining water. He's highly confused. Carol said he looks nothing like he did when I saw him last year. I can't stand the thought of him going through this all alone. I can't stand that he's acting like all's well. I want to go down there so bad, but at the same time, don't. If things go as bad as they seem like they will, I'll be doing a lot of travelling. And that just hurts my kids. And should I take them, to say goodbye? At least before he gets really bad...

I feel so raw. I know I'm going to be the head sibling in all this. And I want to be. I don't want anyone outside of family involved anymore. I don't think I can stop the Erin train. But, if Dad wants her around, I'll have to accept it.

3 months will be mine and Carol's birthdays. 6 puts us in August.

If they can find a donor liver, the chance is 85% after 5 years survival.

I doubt his second opinion (his idea) will be much better. I'm going to try to be there for that one. He doens't want to do that until they get all the work ups done for him to be a candidate.

I kinda think he wants to die. That's he's been so incredibly miserable, he just can't stand it anymore. That kills me.