Dad’s Place

To me, the warmth, the strength, the comfort and security I felt when I welcomed one of my dad’s hugs was the best place in the world to be, however, sadly, this place ceased to exist nearly 15 years ago. I never really thought about my father’s immortality, of course he would be here forever, never a doubt in my mind, not for a single moment. However, reality hits quickly when you least expect it, this time coming in the form of the shrill sound of my phone ringing, breaking the silence of the dreary Autumn night. With a full day already weighing heavily on me, the choice to either answer or ignore the annoyance was a tough one. Encouraged by my husband to answer, I grudgingly picked up, and met immediately with the panicked voice of my cousin, who stumbling through tears, relayed that my dad had collapsed while out to dinner. My mind went into overdrive with questions I couldn’t seem to formulate to ask. I managed to hear, “the ambulance is there and he’s going to the nearest hospital.” I don’t recall saying anything else to her, I just darted up the stairs, screaming at my husband that we needed to go. While frantically trying to get dressed and explain the little that I knew to my husband, my mind went into denial mode. Thoughts swirling through my head that he would be just fine, I’m sure my cousin was embellishing the events, certain it was low blood sugar or a drop in blood pressure, something that would be a quick fix. Quickly panic started to set in, “call the kids” I screamed to my husband, please, let’s go now!”

The car ride to the hospital, normally a short journey seemed agonizingly long, driving slowly in the pounding sleet, visibility nearly zero, cars driving at a snail’s pace. Through no fault of his own, I pushed my husband to hurry, as I tried desperately to reach my brother to communicate what happened to our dad, the outcome, the reason for the collapse, still a mystery to me. I couldn’t understand why my parents were out on a night like this, in these conditions. Why weren’t they home watching TV, snuggling on their couch in their pajamas?

We arrived at the hospital as the ambulance was arriving in the bay directly outside the emergency entrance. Glancing at my mom’s face as she exited the passenger side of the ambulance spoke volumes, and I came to the instant realization that this was really bad.

I embraced her immediately, we held each other tightly and through her sobs, she tried her best to relay the full story of what had happened to my dad, my best friend. Stating that he seemed totally fine throughout dinner, he excused himself to use the restroom, but on his way back to the table, he made a grunting sound and fell to the floor. Watching EMS wheel my dad quickly from the ambulance through the emergency room doors, he gave me a slight wave with his exposed right hand, encouraging me as he always did and my heart calmed a bit.

Frustratingly as often happens with trips to the ER, the waiting game began. I was finally able to connect with my brother and as more family began to congregate in the crowded waiting area, we sat together, praying and speculating on what could possibly be wrong with dad. What caused the this great man to collapse when just hours earlier, on that brisk fall day, he was chopping down a dying tree in his backyard.

After what seemed like an eternity of pacing and waiting, not so patiently I might add, we were allowed to see dad. Walking down the hallway, filled with crying babies and screams of pain, my hand shook as I reached for my husband, squeezing him tightly, dreading what I might see behind the striped curtain. Dad appeared small in the hospital bed, a bit pale looking, but he had a smile on his face, albeit a bit lopsided. He reached for me with his outstretched right hand, which I gladly accepted and he managed to tell me I looked pretty in my blue sweater, but the grim look on the doctor’s face told me a very different story when he asked us to step outside the room for a minute.

Hemorrhagic stroke, a brain bleed is what we were told. A devastating injury requiring immediate transfer to a level one trauma center, possibly needing brain surgery. My legs collapsed beneath me, I no longer tried to be brave, letting the full weight of the doctor’s words crush my soul. In the foggy haze I felt in the dark hallway, I heard the silent cries of those around me. My beloved husband, unsure of what to say, tightly wrapped his arms around me in comfort and sorrow, both of us feeling the gravity of the situation, weighing down on us.

Arriving at the level one trauma center, we all gathered once again to start another waiting game. More family and friends began arriving as word spread quickly that this great man was in critical condition, it was all hands on deck saying prayers for healing and emotional support. My heart was broken, all I wanted was to see my dad, have him reassure me that everything was going to be alright. I wanted to feel his big bear hug, always a place of comfort whenever I needed it. This was a wish going unfulfilled in this crowded waiting room.

Finally, after agonizing hours of waiting, the neurosurgeons gathered my mom, my brother and myself into a cold, empty conference room, totally fitting for the news they delivered.

The diagnosis was confirmed, dad had a hemorrhagic stroke, an inoperable massive brain bleed, the bleeding which will only persist over time. In addition, dad was totally paralyzed the left side of his body. Letting the shock settle a bit, we asked all the questions we could think of at the time. A glimmer of hope was offered by the first neurosurgeon. He felt if the bleeding would somehow stop spontaneously, dad could be rehabilitated. While always being paralyzed on the left side, he could learn to use a cane, but not do normal activities of daily living without assistance. He would be able to communicate but with a deficit. I could not imagine this fearless, independent man not being able to chop down trees, go fishing, drive a car or enjoy life with all its sweetness. Having to depend on others would surely devastate him. The second neurosurgeon honestly disagreed with the first. He simply said, “in my opinion, the husband and father you have known all these years is gone and will never be the same vibrant, active man he once was.” I knew in my heart, as devastating as his blunt statement was and however difficult it was to hear, the harsh truth outweighed the false hope we were initially given.

The roller coaster of emotions during dad’s brief hospital stay was ongoing. One morning he would be awake and talking, passing all cognitive tests. I would be so encouraged, maybe the first neurosurgeon was onto something. I would think maybe after rehabilitation dad could come home. We could once again enjoy a cookout and a cold beer in his backyard, the setting would be different but I’d have my happy place next to my dad. That same evening I would return and dad wouldn’t make eye contact and didn’t appear to be able to speak.

Dad lived at hospice for three weeks before his big heart gave out. As his brain continued slowly bleeding, he no longer recognized any of us. Most days were spent by his bedside watching him sleep and watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, praying he kept breathing. Dad died peacefully in his sleep when no family was present, quietly without a fuss and on his own terms. I will forever miss his laugh, seeing the sparkle in his beautiful blue eyes or feeling the warmth of his hugs. The place of comfort and sensation of home no longer exists for me as it was in his big strong hugs and his larger-than-life-size heart.