This is the anniversary of the last time I heard my father’s voice. The last time I heard his nervous laughter. The last time we said I love you.
He went to surgery, had complications, but survived. I was shocked…I truly didn’t think he would make it thru the surgery. But, in a cruel twist if fate, I would watch him suffer a full month before losing him.
He had a few moments of consciousness. A few times we could communicate with small nods or eye blinks. His lungs never were able to support him on their own, and the tube never left his airway.
Most of the time he was in a medically induced coma. He had many procedures. It felt like we were torturing him to death, and I couldn’t take it. A doctor finally said he could not recover after he aspirated stomach acid while getting a procedure for a feeding tube. We ended the life saving care, and he slipped away within 3 minutes.
I woke today feeling heavy. I wish I could go back and have another conversation. I wish my mother hadn’t been making jokes about death before he was taken to surgery. I wish I had taken a moment alone with him, and given him a bigger hug.
I was scared. He was too. It was hard.
Today, I wanted to stay in bed. But, I am a mom. I couldn’t.
My youngest woke feeling sick. After about an hour he started feeling better. We had a birthday party to attend. I was dreading it, feeling like I didn’t want to be with people today. My middle son was excited. My youngest also dreaded it…he has anxiety too. My college aged daughter is also home, and the whole family attended together.
My youngest wouldn’t play there. He stuck close. My middle son was a social butterfly. My husband chatted with former work buddies.
My little guy said he didn’t feel good after about 40 min. He wanted to go home. He felt constipated and wanted to use the home toilet.
When we got home he couldn’t go. He tried. He cried. He was exhausted, hid belly hurting. He fell asleep on me for about an hour. Unusual for my almost 6 yr old boy to nap…I knew I was in for a rough night.
When he woke, he felt awful. I tried a warm bath. Finally, as he squatted on the toilet seat with me helping him balance, he finally started to go…explosive poop with a whole lot of gas. He also peed. While squatting. With me holding him. So he peed directly on me. I was soaked. He was crying. I assured him I was NOT angry at all…that all messes can be cleaned up.
He is finally feeling better. He is smiling and playing.
I am exhausted. Mentally and physically. The day has been hard.
Seeing your child in pain is brutal. It was a long afternoon of his crying and screaming in pain.
The weight of the day was already taking a toll before dealing with my son not feeling well. All of this together, and I am beyond exhausted.
Life for me right now is good. That doesn’t mean I won’t have hard days though. Today was hard.