So I don't know where to begin. I know that I want to write down my thought, my emotions, my heart and how it was broken last week at this time but how do you begin. How do you begin to write the pain, anger and heartbreak from losing a parent. I guess the best place to start is at the beginning.
Last Sunday Jamie and I were getting ready to leave to go to my parent's house so that we could go to the pumpkin patch. We had planned to be there at 11:30 but when we got up Sunday morning, the house was a wreck and I was about at my limit of chaos. Anyone who really knows me knows that I can not handle chaos. I think it's the ADHD in me which requires organization to keep my mind sane. We had just told the kids it was time to leave and I had heard the phone ring but didn't even glance at who it was. A minute later Jamie told me that I needed to call my mom. My cell had rang twice, the home phone once and Jamie's cell once. She knew we were on the way so figuring she just needed us to stop at the store for something I called her back. I never expected what I would hear on the other end of the line. When she answered I could hear the chaos.... I don't know how to explain it but before she could get the words out I knew it was bad... really bad. Mom began to talk but everything was mumbled. All that I could understand was your dad, ambulance, CPR. I was in shock. Later she told me that dad had went out for his run as usual. He had told her 2 days earlier that when he got back from his run he had a little pain down his left arm but he also had been lifting weights. She had told him that on Monday morning he was going to call the doctor. When he got back from his run they chit chatted, she asked how his run had went, he said fine. He had went to the kitchen and was cutting up his pear for morning snack. She had heard gasping breathing then a thud on the kitchen floor. She went to the kitchen and he was lying on the floor and already turning blue. She called 911 and the 911 operator talked her through the steps of CPR which she performed until the emergency responders arrived. Until this moment my dad was healthy. He was a runner and worked hours at a time in the yard, hard work not just piddling. He ate healthy and took good care of himself.
I told her we were on our way, we would be there soon then we hung up. Honestly I don't remember the next few minutes, other than praying, over and over again, that dad would make it, that he would be ok, that this was too soon for him to leave us. I sobbed, grabbed the kids, threw a few things in a bag and took the kids to Jamie's mom's house then headed the long trip to Northeast Columbia. I honestly didn't think we were every going to make it. I continued to pray but my prayers went from dad's survival to prayers for his soul. You see my dad had lost his way as a follower of God. I knew this. Last Christmas I had started a letter pleading for his heart, pleading for him to talk with our pastor, to work through his loss and grief of Scott's death. I had feared that one day Dad would die and would go to Hell. It was very real in my heart but I never finished my letter, never sent it, and never broached the subject with my dad. I never seemed to find the right words and it never seemed to be the right time. I didn't think at the age of 63 my heart and soul would be pleading with God not to take my father because I hadn't had enough time, enough time to change his heart and draw him back to Jesus. My dad had grown up a believer and I thought I had time. But at that moment in the car on the way to the hospital knowing that the EMTs then the ER doctors and nurses were fighting to save my dad's life, I pleaded with God to give me time, to give dad time to return to Jesus. At this time dad had be resuscitated twice, initially on the way to the hospital or as they arrived and then already once while he was in the ER. I also prayed for my mom, that I could get to her, that if my dad died that I would be with her when they told her. We arrived at the hospital and the staff lead me back to my mom. My cousin had come to the hospital as well as my parent's neighbors. I was thankful that she wasn't there alone. After what seemed like hours the ER doctor came in to talk with us. The news was grim to say the least. Pretty much when dad came in he had had a massive heart attack. The doctor explained that he had a heart beat but basically it wasn't a "life sustainable" rhythm. He explained that at one point they were pretty much waiting on him to die (though he used more gentle words). But then unexplainably, dad's short gasping breaths became more normal again. The doctor explained it as a highly unusual case for which he could not explain. I on the other hand could completely explain that the hand of God was upon dad. God was giving him breath, breathing life into his lungs, giving him the time that I so desperately pleaded for. The ER doctor explained that they would contact the cardiologist on call at Providence, explained that the Cardiologist may not even accept dad as a patient (in fact the way he said it made it sound more like it wasn't likely that the doctor would accept him), and that because dad was so critically ill, he may not even survive the transport to Providence Downtown. We then waited and continued to pray, for the doctors and nurses, for dad and his heart both physically but also spiritually, and that the Cardiologist would at least accept dad and attempt to save his life. The ER doctor came back some time later and said that the Cardiologist was willing to attempt some type of intervention and we needed to consent for transport. He again explained this as a long shot, explained that transport would be difficult and dad may not survive. They then let us see dad. I think the doctor wanted us to be able to say our goodbyes and I love yous knowing that this may very well be the last time we saw him alive. I will never forget this moment, because these same thoughts were going through my head. It was surreal, unbelievable, unimaginable. I put my hand on his shoulder and was taken aback at how cold he felt, how lifeless his body was. But then we had to say good bye. The EMTs who were transporting dad were there and we told them to do their best and take good care of him. The one EMT told us they would do everything in their power and he looked me in the eye and it was like I could see his heart and how sincere he was. How he was ready to do everything humanly possible to save dad. We headed to the car and drove to Providence. It was around 1:45 when we arrived at the hospital. My mother in law was able to track our pastor down and he was on the way to join us. They lead us to the waiting room of the cath lab and there we waited. What seemed like forever later, the EMTs that had transported dad came in and told us that dad had made it to the hospital and had even swung at them en route. We took this as a good sign, that he was fighting. At around 3:00 the head nurse came in to tell us that they were about to begin the heart cath procedure. Dad had had some serious arrhythmias since arriving at the hospital but they were ready to try. Sitting there was unbearable but at 3:45 the same nurse came in and told us that dad had made it though surgery, that his heart was getting blood, and that things were going as well as could be expected. This was our ray of hope. The doctor came in a few minutes later to give us a report, basically they had done 2 stents to dad's left main artery to restore some blood flow, the remaining arteries in his heart were 90-95% blocked. He said that if dad had came in 2 weeks ago he would have went straight to open heart surgery but that this was all they could do right now in his extremely fragile state. He asked mom about how his heart attack happened, whether he hit his head (thinking he could have a brain bleed) and then he said he was shocked that dad could still be running and that he didn't have tons of signs of the poor health of his heart. Yet again unbelievable. How could my dad who eats health and exercises have every single vessel in his heart at least 90% blocked. We have a family history of heart disease with my uncle having a heart attack at 42 years old and my grandfather having a heart attack but it was still unbelievable. The doctor explained that things were still very critical but that dad's heart rhythm was fairly normal and his blood pressure had been a little low. He explained the concern about what dad's brain function may be with the lack of appropriate blood flow over the last several hours but that if dad survived, it may be days before we really knew anything. He explained that they would like to do a cooling protocol but that they would need to do a CT scan first to make sure that there was no brain bleed since he collapsed and fell to the floor when his heart attack happened. He explained that if dad lived there was far more intensive work that needed to be done on his heart. We were hopeful. They were seeing if they could take dad straight to CT or if they were going to have to take him to CVICU first. But before this relatively good news could sink in the doctor was back. Dad's blood pressure was now too low, not responding no matter what they were doing, too low to be life sustaining. He then told us we need to make a decision. He said it was likely that dad's heart would stop again during the night. We needed to decide if we were going to shock him again and the doctor recommended that we not try any life saving measures, that we had done everything we could do, and dad's heart was not responding. It was heart wrenching. We had went from such hope to such heart break... this couldn't be happening. What had changed so suddenly and why would his heart not respond. My sweet mother, bravely and courageously, told the doctor that we didn't want to try any life saving measures and then I will never forget the look on her face when she told me "Melissa I just don't want him to suffer." I had always through that if this moment came it would be me being strong and able to let go but it was her. The sheer love she has for my daddy was evident when instead of caring about her broken heart, she cared about his pain. This was probably the worst moment of my life. The only other one that comes close is the moment when my parents came in to the police station after my brother died and they looked at me and asked "he's gone isn't he?" There just aren't words to describe what this moment felt like. When they were ready to transport dad to the CVICU they let us see him and talk with him. Again my heart knew they were giving us this moment because they knew it may be the last time we saw him alive. They took him up to CVICU and after about an hour they called us back to be with him so mom and I went back. Mom asked the nurse if there would be enough time for dad's bother to get to the hospital and be with him. The nurse asked where he was coming from and we said Ohio and she said that with the distance of travel she didn't think he would make it in time. The harsh reality of the situation hit me again with these words. My dad was dying and it was just a matter of time. I honestly don't know what time they took us back to be with him. It must have been around 6:00. We were talking with him, tell him to keep fighting, sorting through all our emotions, telling him we loved him, telling him he was the best daddy in the world and how thankful I was that I had him as my daddy and mom telling him how great of a husband he was. Then we told him it was ok, that we didn't want him to suffer, that we were so thankful that he had fought to be with us, that it was ok to let go. Then his irregular heart beat was gone off the monitor. I stood there staring at it, willing it to start beating again but knowing that dad was gone. They let us sit with him, to cry, and then the nurse came in, trying to explain that his heart had stopped and unplugged him from the ventilator. Then he lay there still. It was unreal. I never wish for someone to have to live through this moment of harsh reality, but I will forever be thankful that we were there with him as he died, that he wasn't alone, that we were able to tell him we loved him and hold his hand as his body let go. That we were able to see how peaceful this moment was. It was around 6:30 pm. We asked the nurse if our pastor could come back and pastor Jody came in and prayed over dad's body. It was a terrible yet peaceful and awesome moment. At that moment I realized that God had answered my prayers, that he had given dad the time that he needed to get his heart right, to return to Jesus, to be in the right place. The peace I felt at that moment was unreal. There are just no words to explain how at peace I felt. Earlier in the day the hospital pastor came to talk with us and pray. He was from Ghana and had a thick accent. He prayed with us at Providence Northeast early in the day and right after dad's heart attack happened. I really had a hard time following what he was saying. I don't know if he really wasn't making sense or if my brain just couldn't process at that point. But there was one thing that stuck out. In his prayer he said, for our God a minute is like a thousand years and a thousand years is like a minute. While we were sitting with dad, I came back to this part of the prayer. In the 7 hours between the time that dad had his heart attack and the time that he died, for God this was like thousands of years. I can only imagine the conversations between dad and God. Dad asking God all his questions, seeking answers and then turning his life over to Jesus. I believe with ever ounce of my being that these short seven hours were the time that dad needed to make his heart right and that God answered my prayers during this time. It gives me great peace.
The next days were full of all the horror of planning a funeral that you were never prepared to do at this point in life. One the way home from the hospital, mom received a call asking if we knew if dad wanted to be a donor, particularly his bones, skin and eyes. It was unreal, how could we answer this question right now. She told mom she would call back in 30 minutes, as if 30 minutes was enough time to process the whole thing. Dad wanted to be cremated so we kind of thought why not. He had amazingly beautiful eyes. They sparkled when he was happy and you could see them brewing when he was upset. They were always full of emotions which was so amazing because my dad was not one to show emotions. It was as if his eyes held that emotion for him. Skin and bones were a tougher choice. The thought of it made me cringe and mom and dad had never talked about what he would want. We gave the ok for donations and I hung up the phone (I had to give the final ok because I was dad's healthcare power of attorney. He didn't want mom to be because he said she wouldn't pull the plug but I would. Little did we know that in that moment she was far more ready to make that decision than I was). The moment the phone hung up I had a little moment of panic in my heart. What if this wasn't what he wanted. The next day we pulled out his health care power of attorney. As we read it, every thing we did in the emotion of the moment was exactly what dad would have wanted, right down to making tissue and organ donations. This makes my heart happy, that we were able to do everything he would have wanted. The night that dad died, we were supposed to go with the kids to Boo at the Zoo. We had enough sense that when we took them to Jamie's mom before heading to the hospital, we had grabbed their tickets. So it was there in the parking lot of Riverbanks Zoo that we told the kids that their papa had passed away, that his heart was too sick and that though the doctor's did everything they could, the couldn't make his heart well again. It was heart breaking, not just telling them but realizing what dad's death meant for the kids. They don't fully understand it, especially Dylan but I certainly understand what it means that they will not have their papa with Bradford.
While planning the memorial service, Pastor Jody asked us to think about 3 questions: 1) what words would we use to describe dad 2) what are some memories we would like to share and 3) what are things we are going to miss. This is the letter that I sent Pastor Jody with my thoughts:
My dad was stoic, the strong
silent type, and a man of few words. He
rarely said “I love you” but his actions spoke so strongly that we knew that he
loved us. He dedicated his life to
making a good life for his family. As a
child, I remember dad always having time for me. He was never too busy to head outside and
play basketball with Scott or sit on the dock while I went swimming. He loved the lake and would ski and swim with
us all summer long. When we were talking
about buying a boat, he encouraged me to get one because he said that those
were his memories of us as kids, that having a boat was like taking a little
vacation with your family every weekend.
He fished a lot when I was younger and I used to cry when he killed the
fish for us to eat but he took the time each time to tell me that it was
ok. He loved to run and I remember my
Saturdays being spent going to road races to watch him. I was always so proud that he was my
daddy. When I first started to run¸ he
would come running with me. I didn’t
find out until much later that it was really hard for him to run that slow and
he would be sore the next day from making himself run slow with me. He never complained and never mentioned it to
me. He was willing to do it just because
I needed him. Dad loved to work in his
yard and I have so many memories sitting on the swing and watching the
sprinklers run after he finished his yard work.
I remember the first time he taught me to edge the grass along the
driveway. He always made it look so
simple then I tried to do it (oh course he never let me try in his yard because
he didn’t want me to mess it up so he waited until I had a yard of my own). I did terrible and it was a disaster but dad
told me I did a great job… and I would get better at it every time. He always had a way of supporting me. When Jamie and I were engaged, I went to help
dad look through a house he had bought and was fixing up to sell. I fell in love with it and my daddy didn’t
have the heart to tell me I couldn’t live in it. So instead of selling it, Dad rented it to
Jamie and me. He wanted me to be
happy. When it came to looking for our
first house to buy, dad was our realtor.
He did such an amazing job showing us the houses that we “wanted” but in
the end he took us to the house that he knew we would love and we did fall in
love with it.
I cannot remember a single event
from my childhood and through my adulthood that dad did not attend. He was at every band concert, cross country
and track meet, school activity, birthday party, etc. that I ever had. Even when I was in college, he and mom made
trips all over the southeast to watch me run.
We always said that one day we would run a marathon together and I am
going to miss that he will not be there for the first one that I run. I am going to miss not having someone to call
when I need directions around the state of South Carolina or when I need to
know how long it’s going to take me to drive somewhere. I am going to miss having my daddy to call
when I have an important decision to make.
Dad was always practical, frugal and logically and I really am going to
miss having his opinion. He taught me
how to be a good person, how to take care of myself, to be responsible, to be a
dedicated parent, to make the time for my kids and know they need me even when
they don’t act like they do, how to carry myself appropriately, dress nicely
even when others may not, and how important it is to use manner and balance a
check book.
I am going to miss having someone to sit with
in the morning at the beach and drink a cup of coffee. My entire life, since I was a little girl, I
would go in in the morning and sit in bed with my parent’s right after I woke
up. We may just sit silently, talk about
the weather or talk about what we have planned for the day but it was always a
special time for us as a family. I am
going to miss seeing my daddy reading the newspaper. He read the paper every day and anytime
something was going on in the world he could explain to me what I needed to
know. Even when we were on vacation he
would come home and read a week’s worth of newspapers. I always thought it was silly to read week
old news but he had to “catch up” on what was going on. I am going to miss seeing dad sit in his
chair at the beach with the kids. He
would sit in a hole that we dug with the kids, eating Twizzlers with them, and
wait for the water to come in. One year
he sat in the hole until the water was about to go over his head and the kids
just thought it was hilarious. I will
miss seeing the love between him and his brother, seeing them sitting together
and talking about the pretty girls walking by.
I will miss him at every birthday party, Thanksgiving dinner, school
play and life event for the kids. I cannot
imagine not having him at Davis’ birthday party next week. He may not have said much but I know he loved
being there with his grandkids. I am
going to miss having him here and waking up at our house on Christmas
morning. As a child he always told us
on Christmas morning that he had to have 1 cup of coffee before we could open
presents so we would sit in mom and dad’s bed anxiously looking into his cup to
see how much he had left. I think he
secretly drank his coffee slower on Christmas day to have more time to watch
our excitement. Layla, Davis and Dylan
knew this rule too and would make sure that papa had his cup of coffee so that
we could start opening presents. Dad
would tell the kids Christmas morning, Wow you must have been really good this
year to get this many presents, then he would look at me. I think that was his way of saying, wow you
guys got them way too much but he would never say that. I remember when I was pregnant with Easton we
were trying to find a 5 letter boys name.
The 3 other kids have 5 letters in their names so we kind of wanted the
baby to have 5 letters also. I liked the
name Flynn but dad thought it was too girlie.
When we were talking about it, he would put on this girlie voice and
look at the kids and say “should we name the baby Flynn (in the girlie
voice)” Then he would do this manly deep
voice and say “or should we name the baby Chuck!” The kids got the biggest kick out of it and
for weeks they would ask their papa to do the Flynn/Chuck thing and he would do
it and they would roll on the floor laughing.
Dad wasn’t the most involved
papa but when he let go and relaxed with the kids, the kids loved it. One of my favorite memories is from when
Layla was a little girl and had a toy that played Old McDonald then mooed. Dad had that toy for some reason and was in
the kitchen with Layla making crazy faces and mooing like a cow every time the
toy did. Layla loved it. The girls would ask papa to go upstairs and
play Barbie with them and dad would go.
He would sit on the floor and prance the Barbies around while playing
along with any crazy scenario that the girls could think of. Apparently many times, Dad was the Ken doll
and he was a Zombie Ken that would attack the Barbies. Davis
would have papa watch her “babies” and hand them to dad and he would be the
baby sitter. Dad would sit and talk to
the baby doll and rock it and Davis thought it was great. I
will miss having dad out on the boat with us this summer. A couple summers ago dad pretended to “fall
off the boat” and made a big to do for the kids. They were just shocked that papa fell in and
still talk about the day that crazy papa fell off the boat. This past Christmas when the kids were
decorating cookies and fighting over who got which one, dad got involved and
was acting silly and telling them things like “no that was mine and I want to
decorate that one” but he sat at the
kitchen table and decorated cookies with the kids. They showed him every cookie they decorated
and he would tell them how great it was.
The kids called dad Papa with Bradford (because mom and dad’s cat is
named Bradford so that’s how they distinguished the 2 papas). They would sit and watch out the window when
grandma and papa with Bradford were coming and I know they are going to miss
just having him to talk to, pull on, and sit on his lap. It’s just being with him that I will miss the
most. Just knowing he is with us,
sharing with us, and loving us.
So people want to know how I am doing and it's such a hard thing to answer. To be honest, I'm angry. Angry that I have to live through this. Angry that this is the second time that I have lost someone way too young. Angry that my mom at the age of 60 is a widow, that she won't have dad to grow old with, that she has to go home to an empty house and an empty bed. Angry that our kids will have to go through every birthday, school play, graduation, wedding, and birth of their children without their papa. Angry that I have this same family history of heart disease and that one day my kids could be sitting in the same place that I am right now saying that this isn't fair. Angry that I can't even look at hamburger without thinking of my heart dying. Angry to see everyone going about with their lives while mine came to a screeching halt at 6:30 last Sunday, October 27th.
I also feel incredibly blessed. Blessed that God answered my prayers and gave dad the time that he needed. Blessed that I have such an amazing mommy that adores her grandchild and me. Blessed that I have such an amazing husband that has been at my side through the last week, holding me as I sobbed, brushing the tears away from my face. Blessed to have the kids to smile at me and make me forget for a minute that my dad is gone. Blessed to have my wonderful in-laws that without blinking an eye, took care of the kids, carted them around town and did every thing possible to give me the time that I needed to get through the last week. Blessed for my aunts, uncles, cousins and family who supported me and mom and who were heading to South Carolina within hours of hearing about dad. Blessed to have amazing friends and co-workers that provided me prayers, love and food. Blessed to have the world's best pastor who arrived at the hospital as soon as he heard about dad and stayed with us until we left the hospital. Who checked on us throughout this week, was with us every step along the way and who did the most amazing memorial service even without knowing dad. Blessed with an amazing church family that has continued to pray for us and provide meals for us.
I know that each day will bring new challenges, new heartache, new memories that bring me joy and bring tears to my eyes. I know that this will be a long road of healing. That life will not be the same without my daddy. That every first will be like a knife to the heart. But I also know that dad is with me and that he and Scott are looking down on us and wanting us to be happy again. So this is my first step, the first step to moving on and finding a new normal. The step to do everything in my power to keep the memories of dad alive but to live again.
Psalm 90:12
So teach us to number our days, That we may present to You a heart of wisdom.
