Tag: fatherless

Today it has officially been 2 years without my Dad. Two years ago God took my Dad to heaven and left us with a flipped family dynamic. Although we had time to prepare, and we knew that his time was coming, nothing could’ve prepared our family for the immense feeling of emptiness. Even in the midst of the hustle and bustle by our close friends and family, there was still a big void. Our family had always been just the four of us, and he was our leader; He was our rock and our glue. Without him, we were left just the three of us, on our own, to  navigate this world without him. 

I remember that day being swarmed by loved ones, plans, and lots of good food. The day was busy, but when everyone left that night and I went to bed, all I could feel was this big hollow feeling. I had never gone to bed in a world without my Dad in it  to tell me goodnight or to tell me that he loves me for what was on the inside of me and not on the outside. I had never gone to bed with him, not there somewhere in the world to say our prayers with and tuck me in. I felt empty. I have now gone to bed 730 times without him, and I have come to learn that that hallow feeling doesn’t ever leave.

Through stories his friends have shared of their memories of him I’ve learned even more about him. I remember him as my Dad; they  remember him as a cool guy, & apparently a bit of a wild guy as well. I’ve learned he played a special part in many people’s lives, not just ours, and it was a blessing to have him as my Dad. To me, he was my Hero. He was the strongest man in the world and no question or problem was too big that he couldn’t solve. Then one day there was a problem he couldn’t solve or answer. 

Standing in our kitchen mid September of 2021 my Dad told us the doctors had found a large tumor in his colon. When I heard him say this it didn’t seem like the end of the world at the time,  because so many people beat cancer, and I knew my Dad could too. After more tests, we came to learn that this was more than just a tumor, it was stage 4 colorectal cancer. Everytime my Mom or Dad delivered an update on his conditions or shared  what his doctors had said, they would deliver it with silver linings and a hopeful tone. One day I think my Dad just got too tired of putting up a hopeful front and he told my sister and I that odds were not in his favor;  they had  given him a 14% chance of survival. I hated the doctors for giving us that number, and I wanted them to try harder and give us a better number. Slowly but surely we ran out of options, and my Dad grew sicker and weaker. There are no words to describe how I felt watching the strongest man in my life deteriorate until he was so sick he was only a shadow of the man and Father he had once been. When he was put on hospice care and a hospital bed was wheeled into our living room, I knew it was over. There was nothing left, and all I could do was wait and watch. We had been told he had just days left several times, but he kept beating the odds and waking up the next morning. My mom had been sleeping on the couch next to him for weeks, and it had started to cause her  back pain. Her chiropractor told her she needed to go back to the bed for a little bit and to take a break from couch duty. I took her place. The very first night she slept in the bed, and I slept next to my Dad on our couch. I had a bad feeling. I told him I loved him, and that I would see him in the morning, and although he couldn’t talk back, I knew what he wanted to say. I have never been more afraid to fall asleep in my life. I knew that if I closed my eyes that when I woke up he might not be there. I can’t remember what woke me up but around 3 am I woke up. I wouldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t open my eyes. I was too scared that if I did I would see him lifeless next to me, and he would be gone forever. So I kept them shut until I fell back asleep. I woke up again at almost 8 am forgetting for a second about everything. I called out to my Dad to see if he was awake yet, and I got no response. My heart sank to my stomach, and I felt nauseous. I sat up and looked at him. His eyes were frozen open and his chest wasn’t moving. I screamed. I yelled at him begging him to wake up. Still, no response. I slowly touched him seeing if I could tap him awake, but when my fingers touched his arm, it was cold. I started shaking him and screaming. My mom and sister were in the back of the house arguing but quieted at my screaming . The next thing I remember is my moms footsteps running down the hallway. I remember my mom screaming with shock and sadness and my sister wasn’t able to open her eyes. She didn’t want to see him gone, and I don’t blame her. What happened after that is a blur. I called my uncle (his brother) and I called his mom. I will not ever forget those phone calls. That is where our journey as family 2.0 began.

After that, my perspective on life and faith changed. I did not understand how a God so good and so capable of healing making miracles could let my Dad have so much pain, only to take him away. I did not understand how the world could continue on without my Dad in it. I watched my Mom as what she thought was the rest of her life crumble away, and my heart broke. When she met my Dad, she thought she was done. She had found her best friend, and they made plans for the rest of their life. They were a match like no other, and then he was gone, and she was left alone. I could not admire the strength and faith she had to keep going anymore than I do. She is now my hero, and I strive to one day have half of her strength. She has led our family better than I could’ve imagined, and my sister and I are so blessed to have her. I KNOW my Dad would be proud of her, and I hope she knows it as well. I have watched my sister, as she lost our Dad, the one person who really understood her like no other. She has grown soooo much in the past 2 years, and I can confidently say my Dad would’ve been unimaginably proud of her. Life without him has had ups and downs, and grief is exactly what they said it would be, it comes in waves. Some waves are bigger than others, but we are surrounded with so many people who help us  get through it. The constant we have throughout life is God and family, so, my advice to everyone is to lean into your relationships, and make memories that will last a lifetime, and even after a life.