Nearly 5 Years & It Still Hurts As Thought It Were Yesterday
I lost my Dad on 16th October 2009. And honestly, it feels like it was just yesterday but at the same time, it feels like it's been lifetimes that he's been gone. I was 15 at the time when I lost him, his death was sudden, he went into A&E with a bad cough. And next thing you know, he's been admitted to the hospital and our entire family has been called in urgently by the doctors.
I still remember the day - coming home from school to hear that I had to go to the hospital to visit Dad. He looked okay at the hospital, apart from the oxygen mask and the IV strapped to his arm, he looked like whatever it was, he'd fight it. He didn't look like he had Pneumonia and that though the next 24 hours were crucial, it was most likely that he wouldn't make it. The doctors had it wrong.
I never knew that night would be the last time i'd see my father alive - with his eyes open, still breathing, still looking at me.
The doctors were wrong that night. He did make it through the night but he was unconscious - on a life support machine. And he spent the next thirteen days this way. It was hell, seeing him hooked up to IV's and watching the monitor beep and watching his chest pump when it was in actual fact, the machines pumping air into him. The days went by slow and I recall being in a numb bubble, I wasn't interested in my school work, and no one really knew the full extent of my fathers condition. But peoples passing 'hope he gets well soon' and 'he'll make it, don't worry' messages didn't make it any better. I hoped he would and I really did see him coming home eventually - I believed it. I had hope.
And it lasted until the day the doctors said his system was shutting down; that his organs were failing, that his body was shutting down. That he was giving up.
And then the next morning, our entire family was called in by the doctors. And that's when realisation sunk in and hope evaporated.
They were turning off the life -support machine. It was over. They had done everything they could. I remember sitting there next to him when they began turning everything off. The doctors said that there was a slight chance that when they turned it off, that he would breathe on his own and fight to stay alive. But it was only a miniscule chance. So i watched, hoped, prayed as the machines turned off and his chest beat steadily. My siblings told me to talk to him, to hold his hand - just incase he could hear us and fight. But I didn't do it and i regret it every moment in my life. Instead, i sat there and cried and the monitor began beeping erratically and eventually flatlining.
I hate myself for not holding his hand that one last time, for not saying goodbye, for not encouraging him to stay with me. I feel like I failed him.
He passed away 10:45 on Friday October 16th.
I keep thinking about it more and more these days, and I miss him so much. I don't talk about him cause I end up crying. But I have days like today where I just sit alone and cry, it hurts as the gaping hole in my chest opens up but the release feels better. I didn't grieve properly after his death, I threw myself into schoolwork and busied myself, and I remember my English teacher telling me that if I don't grieve now and and put it off, one day I'm going to wake up and it's going to hit me like a tonne of bricks. And that's what it feels like right now. I can't sleep, I can't stop missing him and at times I feel suffocated. It just hurts so bad and I just want to feel the numb feeling again.
I just want my Dad back I really do.
I'm hoping that writing out my feelings will help with the delayed grieving process, i know ut's never gonna stop - that it's gonna hurt to remember him and that the pains going to strike out of nowhere. I just wish I could grow immune. I just miss him so much.
And I feel so helpless to the pain.