R.I.P

I wrote the Like Father… blog post on Thursday afternoon before I left the office. On my way home, I received a phone call from my father’s best friend, saying that the Hospital called and would like all family and friends to come in. They said it looked bad—whatever THAT meant.

To be blatantly honest, I didn’t feel it was as serious as they made it out to be and almost considered not going; but I called up my sister and we went.

On our way there I thought about the seriousness of his condition and how it would affect our relationship going forward. My grandfather had a few strokes and he’s fine, so I didn’t really worry.

It was when I walked into the room that I realized just how serious (and real) his condition was. There he lay on a bed with nothing but a blanket over him. His head was burning hot and drenched in sweat, yet the rest of his body was ice cold. The nurse explained that he couldn’t talk, but that he might be able to hear us. The way his breathing and heart rate responded every time I spoke into his ear makes me believe that she was right.

I’ve never seen him that vulnerable, and it hit home HARD. In my mind, a father is supposed to be a protector and a pillar of strength. Seeing him like that punched me in the gut and left me reeling. I felt utterly useless and overwhelmingly sad for him. It slowly started dawning on me that it might be the very last time that I would ever see him.

The nurse further explained to me that he had a stroke that led to an aneurysm or something like that. He had blood in the brain and if they operated on him, he would die on the operating table with no one there but nurses and doctors. They figured it would be best if he went surrounded by family and loved ones. She said that it wasn’t a matter of “if” anymore, and that it was more like a matter of minutes.

She was right.

A few minutes later I saw my father take his very last breath. We had the funeral on Tuesday.

Although I am extremely saddened by his passing, I do believe that he was saved, and that gives me great comfort. As I think back about our times together, I realize that we spent more time (especially quality time) together than I had initially thought. There are some AWESOME memories that I can hang on to until we meet again.

I love you dad, and always will. May you rest in peace…