I feel backed up with unsched tears and irritation and some amount of guilt. This week has been a terrible nightmare and so soon after my brother's near death only two years ago. It's not over yet. I'm sitting in the hospital alone watching my unconscious father breathe through a tube with a dozen IVs plugged into him, blood draining from his lungs and chest and his heart pumping with the help of drugs. Every time he wakes, he doesn’t remember where he is. He does not remember who he's seen or what's been said to him, and it's heartbreaking to think this may be his life from now on, after he leaves the hospital. Because he will leave the hospital. He is such a fortunate, strong and loved man. Despite all his flaws and trauma he's given us, he is my father, and this has been shattering me. He was dead for an hour. Dead for an hour.
I still can't wrap my mind around it and I was not there when he collapsed. I can't even imagine what it must have been like for everyone who was present to see that. Dear god. I'm so exhausted. I'm a little bitter. I haven't slept in days. I begrudge my family members who don't offer more than just coming to see him for a few hours. Bring us food. Take turns to stay with him in the night. Help my sister out. The woman will have to take him in for who knows how long and it's going to be so goddamn expensive. Of course I'll help out, I just wish other people were more willing to do it also. I'm so tired. I'm looking forward to going home tomorrow, and I feel so guilty about that, because now my sister and my mother will have little help and it's going to be so hard on them. It brings me back to my brother and that kills me too. Man. I'm so, so tired. My family's all at my sister's having dinner, and I have now volunteered to stay back for half the amount of time because from the ten+ people here other than my mom and my sister, no one wants to actually stay and do the hard work.




















