ontothenext

....

On the way to the hospital, I closed my eyes, held my breath, blocked out senses. I didn't want to feel anything, hear anything, smell anything...sense anything... I didn't want to remember anything about that day. I didn't want to remember what song was on the radio or the smell of the city as we crossed the bridge... I knew that they would haunt me forever. I knew that whatever anyone said or did would be burned into my very being and would remain there for the rest of my days. I wanted silence... for time to stop.

.....

I wished, at that moment, that he would have been born misformed... I wished that he had 5 hands so that each of us could hold one... hold his hand before he slipped away and we would never have that opportunity again...

As we sat around him, I watched his slow, labored breaths. He had been on the morphine drip for a short while, but the reality had not set in. Just a few hours ago, he was smiling and making us laugh... did we do the wrong thing? Did we make the wrong decision? Did I fail him?

Tears of devestation started to fall in the room. Almost audibly I said, "Please don't go, Please don't go... I need you more than you will ever know. We all need you, Please just fight a little longer." I instantly felt great remorse and guilt. He had fought his entire lifetime, and it was his time for peace.

Many doctors had spoken with all of us, making sure that we knew there was no possibility of recovery. I still did not believe them.... Who were they? They didn't know my dad... they knew nothing about him and how much of fighter he is....... Who are they to tell us that he will fail?????
..................

The decision to stop treatment and put him on the morphine drip still doesn't seem real. I still feel like he is just about to call me and see how I'm doing... He's still in the kitchen trying to make dinner... He is still outside taking the dog out... that he is still just a short drive away and will be there to make me feel better about everything like he always does.