This time last year was just really, really strange. Seeing my dad in the conditions he was in and getting it through my head that this was actually happening was something extremely hard to grasp onto. But through it all, not even once did I see my dad cry. Even through all the pain and being told his days were numbered, I never ever saw him cry. I know that if I was in his place i'd be drowning in my own tears. Maybe he had just learned to accept it, because at that point and being in that position there's not really much else you can do. On this day a year ago I was getting ready to hop on a train to NYC where i'd meet my sister who lives in Brooklyn. I remember sitting in my kitchen a few hours before leaving and seeing my dad get up all by himself from my living room couch, which was strange to see because he had a whole lot of trouble doing that. I watched him lunge across the kitchen, holding onto anything he can grab for balance, all so he could just make it to the bathroom. He was so thin it was almost like I could've seen through him. His dignity had literally been stripped from him. He was completely vulnerable and nearly powerless. I felt so embarrassed for him that a 56 year old man figuratively became 20 years older in only a time span of 5 months. He wore oxygen tubes and was getting fed through a feeding tube, he couldn't really open his eyes all the way, his hearing was really poor, he could no longer speak, and his memory was going. I literally watched him survive between life and death. I had a 4:40 train into the city, i'll never forget that small detail. As I was leaving my house my mom told me to say good bye to him. In full honesty, I was a little scared to go near him. He seemed so delicate and weak that I felt as if I could literally break him if I touched him the wrong way. I went up really close to him because he couldn't hear me if I had stood any farther as he lied on the couch and I said I was leaving for the city. He looked at me all squinty eyed as the oxygen machine pumped really loud. He reached out an arm in front of me which I had taken as he was going in for a hug. I bent down and got close to him and gave him the weakest hug I've ever given, but it was a hug. It's weird; that was probably the first hug we'd given each other in 5 years. Maybe he knew it'd be the last time I saw him. I left my house not really thinking anything of it.
I remember sitting on the train in a window seat and thinking a lot about what his funeral would be like. I imagined hugging and crying people and I had to stop thinking about it or else I probably would've bursted out in tears. My dad had worked in the city mostly all of his working career. He knew all of the streets, the back roads, and how to get basically everywhere. He became really familiar with navigating around all of the chaos. The core reason I know a pretty good amount about getting around there is from going to work with him when I was little. That's just one thing I owe to him. When I arrived at Penn Station, I went to go meet my sister in probably the worst place in the whole building because it was so damn packed with people. It was around rush hour so I felt as if I was literally suffocating in everyones loud voices and heavy, fast steps. When I saw my sister the first thing she said was "Sooo, there's been a change of plans". I thought maybe the plans we had arranged got cancelled or something, so casually I was just like "okay then what do you wanna do?". People were shoving and pushing all around us to get where they needed to be when she told me my dad had died. The whole world instantly stopped. I could no longer hear anyones voices. Everyone around me became invisible. In that single moment, my whole entire life changed.
Looking back, I definitely would've choosen to have not been told such a huge news in such a crowded, hectic place. But i'm glad my sister was the one who told me, and I'm really happy that it wasn't over a phone call or even worse, I was the one who found him. On the other hand, I think it's kind of cool that I was told in Penn Station considering the city was like his second home. So maybe it was meant to work out that way. Before all of this I hated the whole idea that things happen for a reason, because when some pretty bad things happen you can't think of any reason there'd be behind it. As a kid my parents fought constantly and I could've sworn they were going to get divorced. From a young age I was able to imagine my mom living happily on her own or with someone else. When it came to my dad, it all went blank. I couldn't really picture him doing either. It just wasn't there in my head. And if they did stay together, I wasn't able to imagine being a grown up and taking my children to grandma and grandpa's house. Basically, when my imagination did its thing I wasn't able to picture my parents growing old together or my dad growing old in general really. It's weird how the image was just unable to pop up in my head. Maybe that's because little did I know it wasn't meant to happen. My mom has been dating this really, really kind and sweet guy for a few months now who also lost his wife to cancer in May of 2014. He treats my mom better than I've ever seen, so I always keep in mind that this was how things were supposed to work out in the long run. My parents were made to fall in love young and build a home and create a family, but weren't meant to go into old age together. Maybe my dad had given all to the world that his destiny had planned for him, so his time was up sooner than others. I like to think of it that way.
This year has changed me so much. Something I always heard about happening to other people, happened to me. I never thought i'd be that person who lost a parent as a kid, and I certainly didn't know i'd have the strength to ever get through it. Religion has always been a really hard thing for me to agree with. I don't even really like to say that there's a heaven for sure. But hopefully, wherever my dad is, he's finally at peace and in good condition after struggling and hurting so much. All of this has been quite the trip, but it's influenced me to really put myself out there in the world before my time is up. I want more than anything to make him proud if his soul is still existing somewhere out there and is watching me. I owe him so, so much. He taught me how important it is to embrace a talent if you have it, and how crucial art is in our world. All he ever did and sacrificed for me will live on even long after i'm gone. I have a wild imagination and try my hardest to put my dreams into action because of him. Sometimes it's still a huge shock all over again as if it had just happened yesterday. I'll be driving or something and all of a sudden it'll hit me like a curve ball. I could mope around and cry over how unfortunate all of this is, or I could do what I know he'd want me to do and use this experience as motivation. And that's exactly the road I've chosen to take.
"What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us: what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal."
No comments:
Post a Comment