My dad died coming up on two months ago.
In early February, we found out he'd collected yet another form of cancer, except this time it was Pancreatic. His doctor said they'd caught it before it was stage 4, so he probably had another year left. I didn't believe it, and told my family we should all try to see him sooner rather than later. I signed up for therapy.
On a whim, we all got together at the end of February from not only close by, but all over the country. My sister in law paid for my flight using miles because her mom worked for the airline industry back in the day so there was plenty to go around. She and my brother flew in from Houston while my sister and her husband drove up from North Carolina. My niece was also able to join us, driving in from Chicago.
We did a family photoshoot at the Fisher Building in Detroit. My dad was clearly losing weight and was (finally!) using his walker to get around, but he was also so clearly happy to have us all around together again.
There were conflicts, but my family really started trying to do better about actually communicating with each other. It was a good visit.
I made plans to fly out on March 18th in order to help my parents out while my dad went through chemo and radiation. I started filling out paperwork for Washington's Paid Family And Medical Leave, letting work know I'd be gone for two weeks while I cooked and chauffeured and cleaned... I was actually looking forward to giving something back.
I never got to.
My dad had been having trouble eating, and after tests and scans it turned out a tumor was pressing on his bile duct. They put a stint in on that Friday, and he was discharged without issues.
Saturday morning I called to see how he was, and my mom answered. We only talked for a few minutes before my dad came in saying he felt terrible, and proceeded to vomit. I stayed on the line until my mom had the situation under control, and I spoke very briefly with my dad as well. He told me not to talk about food.
Not much later my dad was admitted to the hospital with extreme abdominal pain. Nothing was wrong with the stint. He hadn't had a bowel movement in a very long time that can't remember the specifics of at this time. We all thought it was just a temporary thing caused by the operation.
I talked to my dad in the hospital, I think it was Sunday. I told him to hang in there, that I'd be there in a couple of days. The last thing I said to him was I love you. The last thing he said to me was I love you.
Monday there was rumor that he'd had a bowel movement, which would have been amazing! I think I did my usual busy Monday. Those few days are honestly a blur.
My mom called me right after I got into work on Tuesday (6:30am) to tell me my dad was dying, and if I could come that day I should because he had a DNR. I'll never forget the floor at work, or the rain in the parking lot, or my boss asking me if I needed him to drive me home.
I was able to get on a flight that day, and the flight attendants were absolutely the most amazing humans I could have had with me on that journey. I had an entire row to myself, and they checked on me and were so sincerely human I will never, ever forget them. One of them even gave me food that I ate the next day in the hospital.
I made it.
Sara picked me up from the airport and took me to my parents' place where Brian, Pam, my mom and I all went straight to the hospital.
My dad was in restraints because he kept trying to pull out whatever tube it was he had from his nose to his stomach. I think he knew I was there, but he wasn't lucid. I wanted to run away, but I stayed.
The next day we got up and headed back to the hospital at sunrise. It was beautiful. My sister started driving in from North Carolina. We tried to play a card game. One of my aunts was there. Some surgeons came in and talked about doing surgery to remove fecal matter, but the entire family said no. There was no way he'd survive that, so why put him through it. When the palliative care group came in I asked them to give him antianxiety medication because my dad was NEVER the type to sit still, and he seemed in distress to me ever through the morphine. Less than two minutes later he had it, and the change was immediate. He seemed so much more at peace.
Just before 2pm I was drifting to sleep listening to my dad breathing. He was breathing more like an infant... I can't really describe it. Then it stopped.
David said he was half a second behind me in saying something.
I had to call Brian and Pam who had just left, then Cindy who hadn't made it yet, and finally his sister.
I'm missing a lot here. Things I remember and wrote out by hand when they happened, but I'm exhausted right now.
This is a bit of a therapy post, so thanks if you've read this far. It's hitting me so much harder than I thought it would.