What a ride...

Reflecting back on the past year, my head feels heavy with all of the grieving my family has done. Two of Mom's 4 sisters died - one, #2/5 - Paulette, died in April; the other, #5/5, Pat, died in September.

Dad's health turned a corner for the worse in June, he spent all of June in the hospital before being released with oxygen and a portable iv pump. He rallied a bit, but never turned the next corner to full recovery. He was home, getting used to the "new" normal and finding a groove....when his defibrillator fired in September. That seemed to mark the start of the final decline. He was in for a week, out for a week...and then in again until mid-October.

He had a usual blood draw on a Monday, and the Doctor called to advise him to go to the nearest ER to be admitted. His kidneys were failing as a complication of heart failure and the heart failure drugs weren't working any more. It seemed unfathomable that we were hearing "there's nothing more we can do".

I spent so much time on the road and in the hospital with him, that the months from June until he gave up the fight in October, are a blur. Stuff got done; bills got paid...but clearly, I was on autopilot.

Dad died very early in the morning, in his sleep, on Sunday 10/12.

They had tried one last thing - the addition of a 2nd inotrope, a "cousin" to the first - on Thursday. On Friday, he really seemed to rally, and we were hopeful that he would at least be able to return home the following week...although it was clear that he was closer to the end of the process, so we weren't fooled into thinking a full recovery would be had.

He was alert. He was talking. He laughed. He had a great appetite.

Then, on Saturday, his blood pressure dipped dangerously low in the morning. It came back, but stayed low-ish throughout the day. He was very weak and winded. He began having strange dreams and talking in his sleep. I got to feed him dinner Saturday night. He wasn't in any pain, but was increasingly uncomfortable.

He wasn't an outwardly emotional man, so we didn't really verbalize a lot....but we shared some long looks...and as I stared intently into the hazel-green-brown eyes that are remarkably like my own, it was clear that we both knew the score. It was very real and very surreal all at once.

I know how he really had a hard time dealing with others crying in his presence...so I did my best to wait until I got to the hallway to fall apart.

He called his Mom at 10:30. We talked until 11. Mom and I tried to negotiate with him to let at least one of us stay with him and then we'd switch in the morning. He told us he wanted us to go home so we could both come back first thing. We left around 1130. He died an hour and a half later.

I know there's always a debate over whether it hurts less when you get a chance to say goodbye with a gradual death or whether it's sudden and unexpected. I got to experience both this year. I can confirm: both suck.

I'm really at a loss for words. Some days are better than others - but really, the grief and sadness are still pretty raw and at the surface. I know all that I'm feeling is "normal" and "to be expected"...and that grieving is not linear....and I trust what "they" say about the process, and that it gets better. I'm trying to honor what comes up and process through to a better place. And...life is really miraculous and there is still so much to be grateful for here in the land of the living...I KNOW this.

But some days, I feel so overwhelmingly and profoundly sad that I do wonder if maybe they're wrong, because I can't see my way clear to the time when I'm not so sad. It seems so remote.

We spent our first holiday without him last week - and it was just weird. I kept looking for him at his usual spot at the end of the table, and when I didn't see him, I felt like he'd be coming in the door any second. His absence was clearly noticeable.

I feel like a homing or orienting device...like a compass or land surveyor's token is missing....and I have to get reoriented to navigation without the steadfast support and friendship of my Dad.