2am Phone Calls
Last night I received a phone call from my step sister telling me the doctors didn’t think my dad would make it through the night. The call came in at 2am and I stayed up, waiting to see if anything was going to come of it. I didn’t hear anything until 9am. My father is still alive, smiling and nodding at the people in his room with him. I don’t fully understand why they thought last night was going to be the night. Only thing mentioned was his heart rate, which I do know you need to have beating in order to live. (I’m not a doctor, but I can understand a few things.)
It got me wondering though. I thought to myself, “This is it. This will be the last night my father might be alive.” I had to examine my feelings about it. As I have mentioned before, I haven’t spoken to him in a little over 7 years. Sunday was the first time I saw him in 7 years. This whole situation is awkward for me.
On one hand, I was happy to hear he might be dying by the end of the night. Not because I want him dead. Instead because it means he will no longer be in pain and suffering. Being hooked up to a thousand different tubes and a dozen different machines cannot be easy. I do not know what kind of pain medication he is on, so I am unaware of the amount of pain he is truly in. But my guess would be is he is feeling something. If death is the only means for him to escape that pain and suffering, I will be happy that he is able to escape it finally.
On the other hand, I am mad. Not really mad at him, per say. Mad that we will no longer have a chance to really patch things up. I wrote him a letter Monday night apologizing for certain things, but I do not know if he has forgiven me. I do not know if he wants forgiveness from me. I don’t even know if he feels guilty or has any regrets for any of actions that lead to the 7 year silence. I’m more mad that it had to take him being on his death bed to really reach out to me. What if he didn’t even have that chance?
I also have a bit of guilt and regret within me too over this whole situation. I have apologized for my actions, like I said. I guess the only thing I can do is accept that I did my part in apologizing and move on from it. Really no point in dwelling in it because either he forgave me or he didn’t, but he can’t really express it to me.
However, I do not feel any form of grief. Perhaps it might be different once he truly passes away. My step sister was crying on the phone when she was telling me it might be his last night; however, I didn’t tear up at all. I told her thank you for letting me know and stayed awake for the rest of the night, but I never shed one tear over it. Perhaps 7 years is just too long to really feel anything like grief. Perhaps I am just broken. I never cried during either of my grandfathers’ funerals. I did cry during a young girl’s funeral because of how she had died. But I wasn’t really grieving her loss. Not like her family and close friends.
Of course, once the words “Your father passed away” are said to me, a whole tidal wave of grief and sadness and other emotions might hit me. I guess time will only tell.
Right now I am seeing about getting down there again, one last time. I thought Sunday would be the last day I could get there, but my step sister told me she thought it would be a really good idea if I came down again. She even offered to buy me a train ticket. I know tomorrow wouldn’t be a good time to head down there – I have an interview for a job in the morning and my son still has school – but I might consider it for Saturday or Sunday.
Even though I have been up for most of the night – I only got about a hour sleep before my step sister called – I am still wide awake. Maybe my body is telling me that something is coming and not to miss it or maybe I am just on some adrenaline rush. Just wonder how long I have until I just crash.
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