On life, and the end of it

(Disclaimer: This blog is typically all about our fun and adventures. But it's also a record of our life events, a place where I can go back and recall something and remember the small details. That said, I wouldn't be doing justice to our family if I didn't record the events of my dad's recent passing. For those who only want fun and the good in life, skip on past this real-world sadness of a post.)

Unfortunately, just a few weeks ago, we had to say goodbye to my dad, otherwise known as "Papa Leo" (or as Lincoln says Papa Yee-O). At just 66 years old, it was far too young to die, and an incredibly sad event. I joined a club I didn't want to be in, losing a parent left me with a profound sadness. Let me back up a bit....

Before we left South Padre Island (see previous post), I could sense my dad wasn't well. I couldn't put my finger on it, but both Ryan and I knew he wasn't his usual self those last couple of days. My parents departed the south just a couple of days after we left and I knew he'd be seeing his own doc in a few days, so I tried to rest easy. One quick trip to the ER en route, and my fears of "something wrong" was confirmed. They didn't get many answers at the ER, and he actually made the comment to my mom that if "I'm going to die, just take me home". He called me that particular evening to tell me the events of the day, and he knew I would be incredibly alarmed (especially because he pretty much checked himself out AMA in an effort to just get home). Needless to say I was very relieved when they made it back to Minnesota and he was seeing his own doctor. A few days later, he would be hospitalized at the local hospital. Several days after that, I looked the attending doctor in the eye and asked if it were him in my shoes, would he transfer his own father to a larger hospital? He confirmed that he would, and just like that we were on our way to Abbott. Before we left, my dad's clinic doctor came to see us off, and was able to put things into perspective, a reality check so to speak: dad was very sick, and he was worried dad wouldn't even make it up to Abbott. He went so far as to tell us to say goodbye before we drove 1.5 hours. Safe to say we all drove well over the speed limit to Abbott.   

The next 12 days we lived on a roller-coaster. There were ups and downs, but mostly we sat vigil around him, waiting for him to wake up. The team of ICU doctors and nurses were top-notch; can't say enough good things about them. They reminded us to take care of ourselves, to be sure we ate and slept and even laughed. And then, with some major 8 year old convincing, Sidney influenced us to allow her in to the ICU to see her beloved Papa. She missed her face-times and texting sessions with him, and just needed to lay eyes on him. And so she did. And it broke my heart into a million pieces to see her brave face just take it all in. As we left, she asked "how come it feels like Papa is still watching me" (this comment is important for a story later...).  I cried even harder telling her the doctor's grim prognosis; her world was shattered.

The day finally came when the doctors told us there wasn't any more they could do, and that if we wanted to bring him home (with support of hospice), they supported that decision and would help make it happen. So plans were set in motion and we had intentions of bringing him home. And then, as dad would do, he changed that plan and gave us the biggest blessing of all. He woke up. Defying all odds, he honestly woke up from the dead (his words, not mine). My mom and I showed up to the hospital that morning, prepared to bring home a very sleeping dad, and were shocked to see him not only awake, but completely alert and asking for food. Of all things, he wanted to eat and drink some water (LOTS of water!). I truly think some people stopped by that day just to see it for themselves. He was even joking around with us, asking what the tube in his nose was for, tube feeding, to which he promptly replied "oh bullshit!". When all the joking had stopped (momentarily), he looked at us and said "I think I came back from the dead". Thinking he was being funny, I gave him a look and he replied "no really, they told me to come to the light". When I told him I was happy he didn't go towards it, he answered "I did!". Those words, coupled with Sidney's feeling that Papa was watching her, makes me think he had one foot in each world during that ICU stay.

We ended up having 5 days with him when he was awake, and joking and seemingly happy. We brought him home where he was able to remain for several days before symptoms put him back in the local hospital. Here they had a wonderful hospice suite (think joined hotel rooms) and he spent his last 33 hours surrounded around the clock by family. As he took his last breaths, we all held his hands and told him how much we loved him. I told him we would be ok, giving him permission to go towards that light again. And then, 2 breaths later, he was gone. Words cannot describe how sad we feel. Eventually I gathered up Lincoln (who was in that adjoining room) and we drove back to my parent's house. Tears streaming down my face, I could barely muster out any words to Lincoln in the back seat when he reached for my hand, and told me the same thing I had just told his Papa "it's ok", but then, he said "and Papa's walking...." and trailed off his sentence.

I have to think that these kiddos of ours, they have another perspective, they sense things far deeper than us adults. And I believe Sidney when she feels that "Papa is watching me", and I believe Lincoln when he explains that "Papa is walking", even though he hadn't see him walk in 3 weeks. My cousin told me several days later, that we will feel his presence again, we just need to be open to it. And I whole-heartedly agree.

Unfortunately with death, comes planning a funeral. Something I really didn't want to experience until I was much older myself. But, we did what we had to and made the arrangements. We spoke to a pastor that would do the service (my dad wasn't much of a religious man) and after our conversation, she picked out a reading. It stemmed from the song Turn Turn Turn by the Birds, so we decided to have that song played as well. All was set, but we still had the task of finding a temporary urn (mom is considering having one built). There is a local shop that sells all sorts of cute clothing, jewelry and home décor, and we hoped we could find something in that store. Get ready for this story..... we walked inside and I stopped in my tracks. I tapped my mom on the shoulder and pointed towards the ceiling, telling her and my brother to listen. Of all songs, a million options for songs, Turn Turn Turn was playing over the speaker. Mom and I started bawling right there and my brother declared we would find the urn in that store. And we did!! It was the most beautiful wooden box, with a Tree of Life carved into the top. It was perfect.

And now we happen to see that symbol all around us in our everyday lives. 

Throughout the next several days, my parents' house held an endless parade of visitors, each bringing food and often a story about what they remember of my dad. Boy did we laugh (and cry) those first few days. I learned a lot about the shinanagans that he got into, but more importantly, how much he touched peoples' lives. We found pictures which sparked stories and memories from 50 years ago to 5 weeks ago. I am forever thankful for all of those memories; etching them into my brain so I never forget them.

We made it through, and it sure was a beautiful service. I cried and cried, thinking I couldn't cry any more, but then did just that. Military funerals bring a deep sadness, but seeing that flag handed over to your very own family, is overpowering.
 I'm so appreciative of all our friends and family who helped us personally with the kids, driving the girls to their activities, watching Lincoln while I spent a few quiet moments with dad, sending their thoughts and prayers, and holding us in their hearts. We learned more about our "village", and are so grateful to have them in our lives. We'll be ok, like Lincoln reminded me, but right now, our hearts remain heavy.
Love you and will forever miss you dad.
Until we see you again...