I've made it my mission this weekend to get rid of all my junk and have all of my boxes unpacked, once and for all (or at least as close as I can come).
So last night I was going through a box that happened to have a bunch of letters from my Dad from about the years 1988-1994. He was struggling so much and tried so hard. He really loved us. Those letters are from a time when our relationship was untainted by the complexities of supporting him for the five years I lived in Vegas. When our relationship was so pure.
Of course we still loved each other to the end, but I closed myself off to him when I had to deal with the reality of supporting him. I had so much anger and frustration during those years (the supporting him wasn't due to him being sick, that was only the last few months of his life when he had a brain tumor grow and develop so rapidly that there was no time to get chemo for the parts that couldn't be removed by surgery). How hard that had to have been for him to watch our relationship mutate so. He died the morning that I had planned on going to the hospital after taking my make up exam for school, and after my sister left, to have a real deep heart felt one on one talk. He died before I could tell him I had let the anger go and how I loved all the insights on life that we'd share, and that I was planning on coming every day and having real talks with him. He died before I could tell him that we were getting him out of the hospital he hated so much and to a hospice where they would really tend to him.
We had a small fight the night before he died. When my sister and I left, he had a look on his face that we couldn't describe. After he died, we both realized that the look meant that he knew he wouldn't see us again. He knew he was going to die. He called his sister and told her goodbye. When we were at the hospital the next day, we noticed that he didn't have a phone there. I think he tried to call me, but couldn't remember my phone number and when he tried to get the nurses to call me, I think they took the phone away because I had asked them not to have him call me at all hours of the night unless it was important. Because he had been doing that before and I just couldn't deal with it 24-7. I didn't even write down my number for him when I knew he couldn't remember it. I was selfish to do that, but I was handling everything. I was talking with all the doctors, I was trying to complete my last semester of college, I was trying to keep the family all informed of the situation. The one person who needed me most, I couldn't be there for emotionally because I was too busy trying to hold everything together.
And as much as I appreciated my sister coming out for as long as she did to help out, I didn't really know her that well. She's 17 years older than me and I had only seen her a handful of times in my life. I wanted to have a heartfelt talk with my dad, but I couldn't open up like that in front of someone else, someone that I truly didn't know that well. Don't know if I could have opened up like that to in front of someone I did know well. My dad and I had a very special bond. I needed to talk with him, but alone. My sister was leaving that day, so I had planned to come by the hospital after my exam and do just that. Have a real talk with my dad, like old times.
When we found out he had a tumor, I didn't even have a real talk with him. I stayed there for a few minutes and he told me that no matter what has been said or what will be said, no matter what has been done or will be done, he loves me and that's forever. And I left him, to go to work. He found out he had a brain tumor, and I left him alone to let that knowledge sink in on his own, when I should have stayed to comfort him. When I got to work, I couldn't stay and I asked to go home. What did I do? Did I go back to my dad's to be there for him while he tries to process the news that he has a brain tumor? No, I go home. And I call my friend Nathan to come over because I need comfort. Nathan hugged me the moment I opened my door, but I didn't even let him comfort me while he was there. Instead, I sat on the computer and wrote long emails to the family. And that whole time, my dad was sitting at home, trying to process the knowledge that he has a brain tumor. Throughout the ordeal with the hospital stay and surgery, I never had the talk with my dad that he deserved and that I'm sure he needed. I was too busy trying to take charge and handle everything.
My sister stopped by the hospital to say goodbye on her way home and found out that he hadn't woken up that morning. The hospital never called us to tell us. So she called me and I skipped my exam and went to the hospital and watched him die within 10 minutes of my arrival. He made noises when I arrived. I think he knew I was there. I think he wanted to talk to me. I think he waited for me. I held his hand and told him that I loved him.
So last night I read letters from him, from back in happier times, when our relationship was pure and simple, just a father and daughter's love for each other. I read them for hours. And I cried. I miss him so much and I wish I could have been there more for him emotionally those last few years.
