not a pitty party....just the truth
Only the Good Die Young
There is nothing like being told your father only has a few days to live. So much flies through your head. Scared, nervous, angry, upset, and hopeful, I have felt them all. I knew I needed to be strong and grown up about this, and yet at the same time all I wanted was to be the little kid that yells and screams. I was stuck in the middle of it all. Even worse, is being awakened to find out he’s gone. So much flies through your head. But the only emotion I can remember is sorrow.
That morning I heard those same footsteps I’ve heard all of my life creep up the stairs, only I knew this time was different. As my eyes flung open, my heart jumped into my throat. My mother stepped into my room, sat on my bed and whispered “ Daddy’s gone.” My entire body went numb. The rest of that morning, Wednesday May 28th, is a blur of emotions and still frame moments that are forever burned into my mind. The last month of my father’s life I watched his strong forty nine year old body crumble. He turned into a dying old man; simply looking at him made my heart break. He could no longer walk on his own, needed to use an oxygen tank three times a day, and took so many pain killers that his mind was no longer his own. I watched his body fail him as he suffered through his painful death. He was not ready to let go though, and he fought death until he took his last breath. He was always a fighter.
Ten moths earlier he had been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. Excluding two hospitalizations and the last month of his life, he never allowed his diagnosis to change anything about him. So I watched him helplessly shut down, and I was strong, I was strong for him. That morning when I walked into my parent’s room to find his lifeless body, my strength failed me. I froze. That one single moment in time seemed like eternity. I can remember it clear as day, and I know my mind will never allow it to slip from my memory no matter what my age. It felt as though some one had thrown a bag of bricks at my chest. I placed my hand over my mouth and sobbed. I let it all go, unable to move my aunt and grandmother had to carry me to a chair.
My aunt, grandmother, and my mother all took care of my father when he became ill. The night before he died I sat in his room with them for close to four hours. I watched this unfamiliar old man who had taken my fathers body gasp for air. His frail body had been beaten by cancer, and it seemed to almost sink into the bed the same way in which his chest sunk into his shoulders. I remember sitting there, being so proud of myself because I was not crying, my grandma rubbing his head and telling him “it’s okay to let go now.” She kept repeating that we were all there with him and telling him how much we loved him. I wanted to yell and scream. I was so angry. I wanted to curse the world for taking life away from a man who deserves that and so much more. However, that night I did not shed a tear and barely said a word until I was alone in my room. When I knew I was alone and it was safe to let go, I wrote this in my journal:
I have so many different feelings about my dad. Sometimes I hate
The world because it’s so damn unfair, or all I want to do
Is cry about it and be depressed, sometimes I pretend
Like it’s not there, and sometimes I just want him to let go. He’s so sad.
I want him to know that I love him, and that I’m going to miss him.
But most of all I want him to know I will be all right. Even thought I
Won’t, I don’t want him to worry. I try to make him proud, and I hope
I do every day. I love him with all of my heart. Saying good-bye is hard, but I’m
Just glad I get a chance to do it.
As my family started to arrive to say good-bye I realized how much my life was going to change. Hospice came back and took away their oxygen tank and all the pills, including the pills they had placed in my fridge to give to my father when he was dying. They were supposed to ease his pain. Nevertheless, they made me nauseous. Every time I simply opened the fridge there was a constant reminder of my fathers tragic fate. That Wednesday morning I’m not sure if he got those meds, but I knew deep down later that night when I watched the sun set at the river that he was no longer in pain. Cancer had beaten his body, but not his soul. His beauty, strength, and compassion were still as strong as ever, that sunset was just a reminder, and it gave me hope.
After everything, I searched my house for pieces of my father I could hold onto. I took all of his old CD’s: The Beatles, Garth brooks, Bruce Springsteen, Joe Cocker, Elvis, the eagles, Simon and Garfunkel, Billy Joel, Janis Joplin, Willie Nelson, and Meatloaf to name just a few. I listen to those and so many more that he owned, and my mind always flies back to driving in the car with him and listening to him sings lyrics in pitches I had never heard before or even knew existed. I’m thankful that he left me with lyrics to explain his short life, because in a way I feel robbed. However, Billy was right, it’s true that only the good die young.
...goood ol english 12
| 
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
sillylilgurl109's journal
disappointed