Category Archives: dad

Reliving Memories

That last time I spoke with my dad I told him about the kids, and I could see his face light up at the prospect of seeing them again. Then I realize that my kids will never get to know my dad. Ally will have vague memories, but Ducky won’t even have those.

When they get older I will show them the things he wrote, and the things that were written about him. I will show them the few pictures I have. And I will share with them my own memories. But these are only parts of him. There is so much more that they will never know, and that makes me incredibly sad. You can never really know another person, but you can get to know them, and they won’t have that opportunity. He was an amazing man, a great father, and he would have made a wonderful grandfather. In fact, in the short time he had with the kids, he did make a wonderful grandfather.

I remember how he used to chase them around the living room, take them outside for walks around the neighborhood, buy them chocolates and then feign ignorance when they refused to eat their dinner. I remember all the things he has done for me, too many to enumerate. One day I will detail them all out, and relive them on paper, but for now I will just let them scamper through my head, fragmented.

Wordless Wednesday

On Saturday I took Ally to the arts and crafts place again. We made  a mug for my dad.She fell asleep on the way there.

I painted my namesake.
This time around I restricted the colors a bit. Just one at a time.
I had her trace “I”

I used acrylic paint on the back.
She couldn’t resist using every color in the rainbow. I told her she could do that on the inside. I am sure my dad will love it all the same.

Drained and Thriving

My dad has been very sick lately, and I haven’t actually come to terms with it. I mean, I am not in denial. Not in the real sense of the word. I am aware of what is happening, and the possible outcomes. I am aware of several dire possible outcomes. I am at the hospital three to four days a week. But it just hasn’t sunk in yet. Then today it got worse. I can’t even bring myself to write it out as I am still absorbing it myself.

I haven’t actually dealt with it openly until now. He has been in the ICU for over two weeks, but I have kept it for the most part to myself. Outside of people who needed to know, only a handful of people closest to me were privy to that information. Part of me was hoping for a quick recovery, and then nothing would even have to be mentioned. But as we are entering the third week, it seems less and less likely.
At first I was shocked when I found out my dad went to the ER due to kidney failure. Then I found out he has been having it for some time and he just neglected doing anything about it. Now the consequences have multiplied and kidney failure has turned into a cascade of other ailments.
So far every day or two something else has come up, and it is never good. Today is no exception. There are times I feel so emotionally drained, I feel like I have been gutted. I will sit for hours feeling empty. There is nothing I can do. I can just watch and be there. Except I feel that even doing that is not enough. In between everything going on I feel as though I am not really anywhere. I should be spending more time with my dad. I should be spending more time with my kids. But if I don’t take a few hours each week to myself I am going to lose my mind. I should be doing more around the house. I should be doing more. But there aren’t enough hours in the day. And I am so very tired.

After visiting him today I sat in my car at the hospital and cried. I sobbed like a little girl, scared and confused. But then I stopped. He didn’t raise me to give up. And he didn’t raise me to feel hopeless. Until the end there is always hope.  I can’t solve his problems. I can’t cure him. I can’t even make him well enough to come home. But I can make him feel better. I can make him happy, even if only for moments at a time.

I went online tonight and ordered numerous books he might enjoy to better pass the time in between seeing doctors and having procedures done. I can’t bring the kids to the ICU, but I can bring many pictures. I can’t be there every day, but I can make the most of it when I am there. I can show him the strong daughter he raised. I can make him proud. I can make his last days meaningful. There is in fact nothing I can do, but I can still do everything I can.