Thursday, May 5, 2011

May 5, 2010

Becca and i sat and waited.I wanted to throw up.But there was nothing in my stomach.
I wanted to run.But there was no where to go.
I wanted to scream. But knew that wouldn't help.
So, we waited.
We talked about the fear. The fear of what we already knew. The fear that time was short. That time was no longer on our side.
we waited some more.
It's hard to describe what it feels like to wait, when you know that bad news is coming. Prayers are short. And they feel empty. Fear crawls all over you like bugs, and you can't escape it.
Then, the call. Melissa said that we needed to wait and talk in person. I reminded myself to breathe. The sun was shining, but I couldn't see it. It felt like time had stopped.
Finally, the waiting was over. We were together, and Melissa shared the horrible knowledge that they had just been given. That time was short. very short. I remember the words: liver, pooped out(strangely casual words for someone who is dying), sorry, months maybe, probably weeks...
Then silence. The waiting was over. The news had been delivered.
I don't remember how long it took to sink in. I looked at my dad. I looked at my mom. I looked at my sisters. My family. The four people in the world who have known me my whole life. My people. My heart. And, here we were, learning that one of us would be gone in weeks. My sweet dad. My mom's precious husband. Madeline's bapa. It was unimaginable. And yet true.
The waiting was over, and the weeping began. We sat in my parents living room, and cried tears of sorrow, for hours. and hours. My dad was not ready to die. He was sick...but not suffering. He had years left in him. A granddaughter to watch grow up. Two daughters to yet walk down the aisle. A wife of 57 to still retire and grow old with. he was not ready to leave us. He told us that he was not scared, but he was sad. To this day, I am relieved that he was not scared, but his sadness was almost as hard. He cried. He asked us to stay with him. Where else would we be? There is nothing that reveals the importance of life like death. In those moments, nothing mattered but the time left, and the people in that room. It was painful. It was precious.It was devastating. I would never trade this time with my family, for anything in the world, yet, I believe there is also mercy in not knowing when death is near. It is really so much for someone to bear.

We had cheeseburgers and ice cream that night. No one had much of an appetite, but it was one of several "last meals", so we ate. I don't remember much of what was said. There is a numbness that comes. A grace I suppose. You can't hold all of the grief and sadness at once all the time, or you would explode.

I will never forget that day. I tasted a sadness I had never known before. I experienced a grief deeper than words. My life and my world would nevr be the same. And, five days later, I said goodbye to my dad, as he left this earth and his family who loves him dearly, and went to be with his savior.

6 comments:

Brazenlilly said...

Oh, my friend, this is ACHINGLY beautiful. I'm so proud of you for fighting through the tears that must have been flowing like mad while you wrote out this painful memory, because it is so precious to recall those last days, even the horridness of them. And clearly, even in the horridness, there was beauty, love, family--things that many dying people are not fortunate enough to experience before they leave this world. I agree- your dad's sadness was the hardest part to read about, but I'm also so grateful that he has SUCH an amazing, loyal, loving family who was by his side every step. Blessings and prayers to you as you endure this difficult milestone week. I love you!

Unknown said...

Thanks for sharing, Steph. There is nothing that can compare to that feeling of finding out that time with your daddy is short. I am so sorry you had to endure it, and so sorry that you will, in some ways, re-live it in the coming days. But I am also glad that you can verbalize it and in doing so allow us to share your grief as you walk through these difficult memories. Your dad was a phenomenal man, and he left a phenomenal legacy behind. Love you.

Ryan and Kimmi said...

Heartbreakingly beautiful, Stephanie. Your love for your dad is so strong. I imagine he's looking down on you right now with tears of pride for his beautiful daugther. Love to you.

Tara said...

That was so beautiful and sad at the same time. I've said it before; even though he is gone phsycially, his spirit and example of goodness lives on in you, in Madeline, and in countless others whose live's he touched. I'm here with you during this heartbreaking anniversary! Love you!!

Jewels said...

so glad you posted this story...thank you for trusting us with such an intimate moment. May the love of God surround you as you walk through this tough anniversary.

Diane Davis said...

you are such a mirror of your dad's tenderness and grace. this is heartbreakingly beautiful. i love you.