“Your dad is going now. Don’t speed to get here, because you will not make it in time. As you requested, he is not alone, he is not in pain, and he isn’t scared. Just come now.”
That phone call plays over and over in my mind. I was not there. But earlier in the day, I was able to say goodbye to my dad. For a brief moment during a visit, he opened his eyes, looked at me, smiled and said,”Hi, hun!” He knew I was there and was fully aware of what was happening. I knew my time with him was going to be short-lived, so I hurriedly told him that his sister’s knee surgery went well, and she would be okay. I knew he was worried about her. I knew this because during the time he couldn’t open his eyes or didn’t know who I was, he called out her name. He smiled at the news. I kissed him on his forehead, looked him in his eyes and whispered, “I’m going to be okay, dad. Steve and Dennis will be fine. You did good. I love you. Thank you for moving in with me. Thank you for allowing me to take care of you. You can go.” With those words, he closed his eyes once more and drifted into whatever world he had in his mind. I got up to leave and through tears gave instructions to the charge nurse,” He will leave us tonight. He wouldn’t want me here. Promise me that he will not die alone. He is scared of pain, so please make him comfortable. I cannot bear the thought of him scared, so please comfort him.” The nurse held my hand and agreed. I went home to my family. A couple of hours later, my phone rang and I knew it was the VA.
I was and still am a daddy’s girl. He was a single dad of three. He made mistakes, but he did the best he could. He loved me and I never doubted that. He made me my first cup of coffee when I was young. Mind you, it was more milk and sugar than coffee, but it was our morning coffee. We would sit together, have our cup of coffee, and talk. What would he talk about with a child of maybe age five? Anything that I wanted. My dad was a thinker, a listener. He would let me babble on about whatever I wished, and he would just listen. He continued this into my adulthood. He would only add in his opinion if I asked, otherwise, he listened.
He was a single-father of three. When my parents divorced, us kids stepped up the best we could. Being the youngest and only girl, I asked friends’ parents and grandparents to teach me to cook. At the time, I was learning for survival. My dad could barely boil water for his instant coffee. I can’t speak on what my brothers did, because my memories are only of how and what I focused on to live and have some sort of normalcy. Those lessons of survival became the need for me to have people sit at my table now and provide a meal. It became the need for me to ALWAYS have food in my home and to not run out of anything.
When I was pregnant with my son, though I didn’t have an active partner, I was not alone. I had my dad. Being in and out of the hospital with my pregnancy, he lost a lot of sleep worrying about me. And, when my son was born, he was one of the first to hold him. He was a proud PawPaw. His love for Braeden was so evident in his actions, his words, and the glimmer in his eyes. I am so glad my son had the chance to spend many years with him and still remembers him today.
My dad was my rock. I could go to him with anything. He never judged me and rarely scolded me. All that he asked was that I always told him the truth. He was the one to ensure that I grew up to always be honest whether good or bad. He taught me to be accepting of the truth and respect those that have the courage to be honest. He taught me that from that truth, there was always a lesson. The lesson was to learn about the speaker or about myself.
He was a giving man. That wonderful character trait was taken advantage of by many people, and it used to make me so angry. When I would voice that frustration to him, his response was, “If it can help them, it helps you, too. Never expect anything in return. If they take and take, maybe they need it more than you. If you have it to give, then give.” He didn’t have much. We had very little food. We lived on an extremely low budget. We lived in a small rent house, because we had lost our home. We took the city bus, cabs, or caught rides, because we didn’t have a car. But, he would still give. With that, he taught me compassion, unselfishness, and unconditional love. I learned to look at people and situations through his eyes.
He had his faults. He was a people pleaser, didn’t form personal boundaries, and put up with abuse without fighting back. His actions were never ill intended. He just wanted everyone to be okay and happy, even if it cost him mental stress and worry. And, worry he did. He worried about EVERYONE, neighbors, and even strangers. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I am my dad’s daughter. I have the same faults and am just now seeing how damaging they can be. Even though those can be faults if there are no limitations, it made him who he was and made me who I am.
My dad had health problems. When my son was only a month old, my dad suffered his first minor stroke. I was there, with my newborn, and watched as the ambulance took him away. Shortly thereafter, I was taking care of my new baby, and my dad. It was never a chore for me. It was instinct. Take care of my loved ones, do whatever it takes, get through it. Make it all better. He suffered a few of these through the years, and luckily and unluckily, I was there each time.
On Easter Sunday of 2008, my dad called me. He calmly said, “Hun, I’ve called a cab to take me to the hospital. I have a pain in my ribs. It feels like when I had pneumonia. Don’t come get me, just meet me there.” I had in-laws traveling into town and had food cooking. My then husband asked, “Well, what am I supposed to tell them when they get here, you’re not here, and lunch isn’t ready?” Grabbing my keys, I looked at him and left while saying, “I don’t give a fuck what you say! My dad is going to the hospital, he needs me. You’re a grown ass man, finish cooking.”
The look in the doctor’s eyes was all I needed. When he told us that there was a mass in my dad’s lung, it hit me even harder. He was being admitted for a biopsy. I called home to tell them news and was only met with the question “When should we expect to eat?” I hung up without answering. My dad was put in a room and the next 48 hours were a blur. He had cancer. The tumor was in his left lung and growing over his trachea and into his right lung. He was not a candidate for surgery and they wanted to begin radiation immediately. He was speechless.
You see, a couple of years before he had to have open heart surgery. Being a worrier and thinker, he had a lot of questions. Before agreeing to surgery he asked the doctor, “Well, what if after you get my heart healthy and then come to find out that I have cancer or something?” The doctor told him that his lungs were healthy and to not worry about that. He needed to have double bypass surgery. So, he agreed. I took him home with me to recover.
So, there we were. He had stage 3b cancer and needed to start a treatment right away. He was given 15 months to live. He wasn’t given a chance to think. He looked at me, tears in his eyes, and said, “Hun, I need to think through this.” I held his hand and let him know that time was of the essence. His heart was healthy, and he needed this. I asked him if he wanted to be around for a little longer. He nodded, squeezed my hand, and agreed. He had a little ladybug with him that was in his hospital room. And, anytime he was moved he told me to get “his friend.” I was to take the ladybug wherever he went. My role as caretaker was in full effect, once again.
When the time came that he could no longer live on his own, he wouldn’t come live with me. He said that I had already given so much of my life to him and didn’t want to burden me. Against my better judgment, I agreed and put him in a facility. That lasted less than 72 hours. When I saw that they had shaved his beard off, had him in a diaper, and he couldn’t form words, I went ballistic. In a day, I along with friends arranged 2 bedrooms upstairs of my home for him, arranged for home help, and I got him the hell out of there.
I was graced with almost 2 weeks with him in my home, and longer than originally expected from the doctors. I cooked him his favorite foods. We sat and talked with our coffees in hand. And, he would remind me not to work too hard at work. He told me that I have worked hard all of my life and needed to take some time for myself. He made me promise him that I would. He was witnessing me working, coming home to him, or leaving work to take him to and from appointments, and returning to work. He said that I didn’t know when to stop and rest. I promised him that I would try to be better about taking time for me. Like the night that he died, one night I “knew” he would leave my home and never return. I was getting into bed and told my husband, “Get some rest. Tonight is going to be rough.” That evening, I was woken by noises from the monitor in my dad’s room. When I checked on him, he didn’t know me. My dad was no longer with me.
The days in palliative care were long, emotional, and unforgettable. The staff were caring not only to my dad, but to me, as well. His at-home nurse came and sat with me, as did the president of the at-home caregiving company. I brought the nursing staff snacks for their long nights with him. I needed someone to “care for” and I turned that care towards those that were now caring for my dad. They promised me that he would never be left alone, and they kept that promise. They had someone at his bedside at all times, and only left the room when I walked in. They were there holding his hand when he took his last breath.
It’s been 10 years, on March 19th, since my ladybug flew home. I cannot count how many times that I have wanted to call him. I have NEEDED to babble on to him. I have NEEDED his help. I have NEEDED my dad. His voice rings in my ears when I get tired. “Hun, take time for yourself. Don’t work too hard.” It is that voice that guides me to take a day off. It is his voice that makes me rest. It is my dad that pushes me to do something for myself.
When someone looks me in my eyes, I can only wish that they see my dad in me. I am my dad’s daughter. I do things with love. I do things with empathy. I do things from my heart and soul with no expectations. I don’t judge. I don’t live with hate. I give. I love. I am kind. I don’t do anything unless I can do it with passion. Though not related through blood, he was my dad. And, in me, you will see him. If you want to know him, all you have to do is look me in my eyes.
#itsatamithing
*I included a picture of one of my dad’s old coffee mugs. The ladybug truly has meaning for us.
It's a Tami Thing 