About the book...
Angry at the human race and its methodical destruction of her resources, Mother Earth recruits souls who have just left their bodies to serve Her, and turns them against humanity. Gemini, a clan of paranormal beings, picked from the possessed humans, emerges. A powerful, rising force proceeds to carry out Mother Nature’s plan to systematically destroy towns, cities, states… and eventually, the world. Amidst the chaos, a forbidden relationship a human girl, Violette, and Onyx, a lead Gemini, begins. They will both find themselves in the middle of a revolutionary war that will either save, or destroy our world.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
My little daddy's hands are blue
In the first month after his death, I was able to stuff a lot of emotions because I'd spent a good week with him before he died and I told myself he was just on a long trip. I kept consoling myself with the idea that I would see him again when I die and I just have to miss him really bad for however many more years I live. But now, it's been almost three months and it's really starting to ache in my chest. My emotions are turning into physical pain. My jaw aches, my muscles are sore, I'm feeling thirty three for the first time ever. Some of my regrets-
1- My dad didn't accept that he was dying and no one ever told him. He spent six days in the hospital. The Dr. told us he had two weeks to a month, but because he never asked the doctor, or us, his family, how long he had left, we never told him. We assumed he didn't want to know. Now I feel guilty about it. I feel like if he'd known he was dying, maybe he would've said more things to me, shared more of his amazing wisdom. It doesn't seem to matter that all of these are 'maybes' and 'what ifs.' The logical side of me knows I shouldn't torture myself with all the possibilities because that's what they are: possibilities that will never come to fruition. I can't go back. I can't go back and tell him, I can't kiss his bald head any harder than I already did, I can't squeeze his hand any tighter than I did while he slipped away. Regardless of the fact that I did the best I could loving him in his last days, I still want to go back and do more for him.
2- He couldn't sit up, he was too weak. He couldn't go sit by his stream one more time like he wanted to. He couldn't even push himself up in the bed, we had to lay him down and use the sheet beneath him like a gurney. He wanted to walk to the bathroom, he couldn't. He wanted to sit up in bed, he couldn't. He wanted to eat one more time and I'm sure he wanted to hold my step mom one more time.
3- In the ambulance, on the way to the ER, he couldn't breathe. I kept telling him it was going to be okay. He kept trying to talk to me with the oxygen mask on, but I couldn't understand what he was saying and the EMT kept telling him to focus on breathing, not talking. So that's what I told him too. "Don't talk, just keep the mask on daddy, you're gonna be okay. I'm right here with you." I started to rub his head. I told him I wouldn't stop rubbing his head until we got there. What was he trying to say to me? I'll never know and that hurts.
4- In the ER, my husband and I, and my step mom, sat for two hours with him. He was hot and he wanted his gown completely off. He was whining like a hurt animal, trying so hard just to breath. I finally got to see how skinny he was, how the cancer and the chemo had ravaged him. He was molting, his skin was bruised and splotchy, deep purple where all the needles from his IV has torn his veins up. Dehydrated and pitiful, I was on one side, my step mom on the other and we each had a hand. He looked like a baby, afraid and clinging. We knew he didn't want to go; he was weak but he was fighting and he squeezed my hand unbelieving tight. He was scared. I begged the nurses to give him something to calm down because I figured it would help him catch his breathe. They gave him morphine, which put him to sleep. He was snoring peacefully within a half an hour and I was so relieved that he seemed to be peaceful.
My step mom left to get some clothes and come back with his Kindle, his wallet; she wanted to get his blanket too. He started breathing slower. I went and asked the Dr. if we could get a bugger oxygen mask because I wanted him to be able to breathe through his mouth. They said it was the right size. The Dr. came in and got his oxygen reading and it was 99%. I noticed his lower eye lid was open and went to get the Dr. again. She came in to check his pulse and said my dad was "actively dying." Actively dying?! What the hell?! I wanted to scream at her! A half an hour ago he was snoring peacefully! I didn't scream. I held his cooling hand and watched his breathing get slower and slower. I waited ten minutes before I called my step mom because I remembered her saying she didn't want to be around when he went. But something told me to call her. I just told that she should hurry. I didn't say anything abut what the doctor had said. It took her twenty minutes to get back and he was taking his last breaths when she walked into the room. I looked at her and said, "he's going." She cringed, and said, "Right now?" with absolute disbelief and sat beside him. He'd waited for her. Isn't that sweet?
She watched him die with me. He stopped breathing. His hands got cooler and cooler, bluer and bluer. I kept thinking, "My little daddy's hands are blue. How can this be?" I viewed everything in the third person. I was not me, I was a little girl losing her daddy. Not a 33 year old who'd fought addiction and won, not a mom, or a wife, or a friend, I was just a little girl. I sat with him for thirty minutes, I held his freezing hand, I laid my head on his bed, right beside his belly, I wanted him to comfort me, but he was gone. Nobody home, lights out. I kissed his head one more time and it felt rubbery. I had to get out of the room because I was in the room with a corpse; an empty body that wasn't my dad anymore. The relief that his suffering was over was immediate and what followed was a calm numbness.
These aren't all my regrets but this is so exhausting! I'm not expecting anything out of this other than for me, writing is therapy and so is reading. So if my post helps someone know they aren't alone or if you'd like to offer any advice about how to stop this horrible movie from playing over and over again in my head, feel free.
So now, in the wake of the holidays, I am finally dealing with some of the crippling pain. And that's how it feels when I miss him. Crippling. I never knew missing someone could hurt so much. It's so final, so complete. I can't negotiate with death, I can't bargain with it or manipulate it to get my way. I just have to cry and bare it. So that's what I'm doing. It feels good to put this on my blog, however personal it is, it's still a good piece of literature. No matter how disturbing it is, it's still worth reading. My dad would be proud.