Nightmares are reality

I closed my eyes to sleep. I settled into bed; bringing my knees to my chest and the covers to my shoulders. I heard breathing. He was breathing. I listened as closely as I could. I had to, I had to make sure he was breathing. I had to count the time, make sure it was right. I was waiting for small interruptions of inhalation. I couldn't handle it. I knew it would stop, I knew he would stop again.

I sat up in my bed covering my ears. I almost went into the hysterics of that night. I was crying and the only thing I could say was "he stopped, he just stopped." I'm haunted. I lost it a bit this weekend.

Records

I brought my father's record player and box of records home with me. I've actually been wanting these items for a while. I used to listen to these records. One day my father and I were talking about music; It was before the end of my Jr year of high school. I remember that because it was before the throat cancer. His voice was normal, not garbled as it had been after the surgery. He played a few records for me- Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, Blondie- and I played a few cds for him - including Nine Inch Nails and the Smashing Pumpkins.

I listen to my father's old records and I feel closer to him. I feel a bit better. As long as I have them my father is not completly gone.

out, out damn spot

I can't get it out of my head. A replay of the final moments is captured in my head on repeat. When I can't keep myself busy, the images rush in. It's driving me crazy.

Love is watching someone die

I'm trying to cope with watching my father die. He had been breathing at the rate of 5 breaths per 10 seconds for a few days, along with having a fever, with eyes open. I was talking to him, letting him know we loved him, letting him know we knew he loved us, telling him to please go if it hurts, that I would take care of my mother. I let go of his hand and went to sit on the couch, within minutes he started breathing at the rate of 5 breaths per minute. He inhaled, exhaled, tick tick tick, inhaled, exhaled, tick tick tick... I got up and before I could get his hand he looked at me and stopped. It was 12:28am. I held my watch telling myself I would wait till 12:30 before I did anything. I began crying as I ran for my mum's bedroom.
When I came back out his eyes were still open; the skin around his face tight; he was paler.
I was the only one in the room when he died, I saw it. I think in a way this makes me grief different. How does one get over watching someone die?

What Sarah Said by Deathcab For Cutie

"And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time
As I stared at my shoes in the ICU that reeked of piss and 409
And I rationed my breathes as I said to myself that I'd already taken too much today
As each descending peak of the LCD took you a little farther away from me

Amongst the vending machines and year-old magazines in a place where we only say goodbye
It stung like a violent wind that out memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds
But I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all
And I looked around at all the eyes on the ground as the TV entertained itself

'Cause there's no comfort in the waiting room
Just nervous pacers bracing for bad news
And then the nurse comes round and everyone will lift their heads
But I'm thinking of what Sarah said that "Love is watching someone die"

So who's going to watch you die?.."


This song makes me think of this time. Though we kept him at home. I am glad we did. At the end he was home with us. That's how it should be.

12:28am

He just stopped..................

Why don't you close your eyes?

He lies there staring at us, eyes darting around the room. He mostly focuses on the corner. I ask him what is there and if he sees something. He moans in response or just stares at me.
Why doesn't he close his eyes? I wonder if he is afraid. What is he thinking? If I close my eyes will I be able to open them again? - That could be scary.

Please Dad, don't linger. Just go, please. We understand and we don't want you in pain. It will be ok. We'll take care of each other, we promise.

Each day I watch my father's skin sink more, tighten around the face. I see his heart beat in his chest. He no longer eats or drinks. I no longer talks, but moans when he gets the energy. He cannot move on his own, except to move an arm or blink. He has been running a fever. Perhaps the fever means something. He's up to 105. That cannot be good. I realize this and when I realize it I start to cry. Otherwise I can keep myself distracted with staying strong and trying to be funny. I'm breaking down.

Life ramblings

First I want to say it's real classy for people to comment on my blog entries about my father dying with advertisements.

Last night I went to Beth's. I just had to get out. I haven't seen her in a while and it was nice. We talked about how funny it is we are all grown up now. We're working women, on our own full schedules all that. It's amusing that the lot of us are all in the same kind of field.

I came in at about 11:30. I snuck in and stayed on the love seat. I didn't want to go sleep in the bedroom. I read for a little bit then laid there listening to my father's breath, 2 to my every one. Sometimes he would stop for half a second. This would scare me as each millisecond felt like a minute. I'd shake awake and watch his stomach listening as I held my breath. I was afraid to go to sleep, afraid that I would wake up and he wouldn't be breathing.

life ramblings

First I want to say it's real classy for people to comment on my blog entries about my father dying with advertisements.

Last night I went to Beth's. I just had to get out. I haven't seen her in a while and it was nice. We talekd about how funny it is we are all grown up now. We're working women, on our own full schedules all that. It's amusing that the lot of us are all in the same kind of field.

I came in at about 11:30. I snuck in and stayed on the love seat. I didn't want to go sleep in the bedroom. I read for a little bit then laid there listening to my father's breath, 2 to my every one. Sometimes he would stop for half a second. This would scare me as each milisecond felt like a minute. I'd shake awake and watch his stomach listening as I held my breath. I was afraid to go to sleep, afraid that I would wake up and he wouldn't be breathing.

4-6, not quite

4-6 weeks has become one week. My father's condition has gotten worse. His body is no longer needing much food or water. He can barely lift a cup to his mouth. Last Friday he was able to wobbly walk around. We were shocked when we learned today that we are much closer to then end than expected.
I'm hanging on the best I can. Trying to be strong. We all cry off and on. People in the apartment complex have been nice and brought food. It's tough.

Prepare for the worst

My father is going to die. There is nothing they can do for him. THe only thing we can do is wait..... wait.......

Prepare for the worst, but hope for the best

That is the motto our family adopted 6 years ago when my father was taken to the hospital with a cancerous tumor in his throat. We weren't sure if he would live till the surgery or through the surgery. He did. He has been living life in pain and restricted to baby food and a lot of bed rest. When he gets sick he get very sick and it's hard to shake.

He's been sick for the past few weeks. Thursday he was taken to the hospital. My sister says he is really weak. Things are not looking so good. I'm really to spent to go into the details of it all. I'm looking up airfare... preparing for the worst...