Some thing else that’s bothering me is the fact that God could’ve healed him. I know some of the reasons he didn’t, and I have to make sure to not become bitter towards family members for those reasons… but it’s still unreal that he’s gone and a miracle was so possible. God even told me he would heal him if certain things happened… so being me, I tired to make those things happen… and they didn’t happen and I hate it.
Still, I honestly thought that a miracle would happen for sure. When the doctor told me he had three days and his system was shutting down, I smiled and said I was “ok.” I genuinely believed at any moment a miracle would happen…. but then he was gone 6 hours later. And it was so fast. Too fast. My last memories are putting juiced fruits and vegetables into his feeding tube because I was convinced the enzymes inside of them would help his healthy cells get strong… and he literally looked at the green stuff being poured into the tube and said “what is that?!? what are you doing to me Amanda?! Stop!” Of course I continued and to try with every effort in me to save his life!
And then when he passed it was strange… I don’t know what to make of that either. To be in the room and watch the breathe of life leave my father’s body. To watch my my watch my sister run down the hall and call me into the room because he’s dying and had DNR. To watch my mom jump over the hospital bed and start praying, and to have my grandparents standing right there too. It was just too much in that moment. And then to feel his pulse and watch him gasp for breathe and know that it was over… that death was about to become a reality and there was nothing I could do. Nothing. And my little, but bold grandmother trying to do something, anything. And watching my grandfather pounding on his chest, hoping for life.
Those moments were so real, so raw. So alive even though death was the topic. And I don’t know what to do with them at all. I think it helps me see that he was loved, so cared for, so admired that we were doing everything within our power to have him here with us. But my thoughts, standing there feeling his pulse were, “please don’t let him come back and let him live like this in pain.” At that point all I could do was walk away from the situation… only to find myself in the arms of so many people that just wanted to express their love.
Now… Mom and I keep asking if we were naive in not embracing the reality of the fact that death was so close. In April, when he was so sick… I knew deep down he was going to die. He was just so sick and so thin. But the three of us still believed a miracle would happen. I decided a month ago that what I believe, have seen and know far outweigh cancer… but it wasn’t enough. Death became a fast reality.
And mom keeps saying she wished she hadn’t believed so much, and that she could’ve embraced the fact that death was so close because there are so many things she wanted and needed to say. And I feel so bad for her. My mom has so much life in her. She’s so strong and it’s partly because she lost her dad. So why did this have to happen to her? Why does she have to start life over again? Why can’t she just have my dad in her life for the rest of her life? There’s no such thing as fair, but gosh this sucks. And it’s going to continue to suck for a long time.
Change is happening whether we like it or not… And I feel bad for change. I feel bad because I am usually so willing to change. So when I hear mom and Bridge talk about hearing the door open and thinking it’s dad… well I don’t have those thoughts because my mind is always changing it’s patterns and accepting the fact that life moves on. So it’s not like I’m trying to forget my dad, it’s just that I’m already ok with the fact that it’s not him coming in and out of the house. But am I wrong for that? Or, am I saving myself from the heartbreak of longing for someone that will never return?