I just need to say AGAIN how wonderful he's been in all of this. He has never once questioned my feelings for him, even in those first days after Dan's death. He took care of my kids when I couldn't get out of bed. He let me grieve. He continues to let me grieve. He let me sob on his shirt the day that the cremation happened. He went with me to see Dan's dead body, for God's sake. He gives me random hugs just because he knows I need them.
Currently, I'm having serious issues with my parents. They have behaved very selfishly during this entire situation. I understand it's odd, their ex-son in law dying, and them not knowing what to do. It's very clear my mom doesn't understand why it's hit me so hard. I was talking to Justin last night. I reminded him that my parents don't know he was an alcoholic, and if they did, they're the type to roll their eyes and think it's an excuse for not being strong enough. They certainly wouldn't understand the addict-enabler relationship.
My dad and I had the biggest fight we have ever had, yesterday. It was horrible, and resulted in him hanging up on me. He kept trying to control me and I kept pushing back (I have NEVER done this before) and he didn't know what to do. Anyway, J and I were discussing the situation last night and he just looked at me and said "I am the luckiest man in the world because of someone else's misfortune and sickness." He couldn't get it all out before HE started crying. He told me he felt guilty for his "good fortune" and knows that if Dan had been able to get himself together that he and I would never have met. He said he "I saw the love you have for him. And the support that you gave to him. And I'm just so lucky." Sort of an unspoken, "I know you'd do the same for me."
I am the lucky one. To have met someone who came through this WITH me, with flying colors. He has made the best of a horribly awkward situation, standing right next to me at Dan's memorial service. Meeting Dan's friends, passing THEIR inspection. Loving my kids, Dan's kids, unconditionally.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
a box for daddy
This morning, S & A were up super early. While I was getting ready, they were coloring. I heard A say something about daddy and S said "no, he's not here." I walked out and asked what they were talking about. S told me that A wanted to give daddy the picture she drew and S told her that she couldn't because daddy wasn't here anymore. We all sat right down in the hallway to discuss. I told them that I thought it was a great idea for them to draw pictures for daddy, write notes for daddy, whatever they wanted to do. S questioned me on how he would get them. I told her that she was right, that we couldn't physically give daddy the pictures, but maybe we could make a pretty box that we could put all the things in that we'd like to give to daddy, and that even though he wasn't here in person, he'd know that they were for him. And I said that I thought leaving notes for daddy was a great idea and S excitedly said "like when I want to tell him that I lost my second tooth!!" And I said YES, exactly!!!
And now I'm crying again just thinking about the conversation. All the milestones he will miss, although I know in truth, if he were still here, he'd miss most of them anyway. But, my kids will be cheated out of getting to tell their dad special things.
And now I'm crying again just thinking about the conversation. All the milestones he will miss, although I know in truth, if he were still here, he'd miss most of them anyway. But, my kids will be cheated out of getting to tell their dad special things.
Monday, June 1, 2015
Some days...
Some days, I can get through most of the day with little emotion felt about D. Other days, I am just overwhelmed by it. Those typically are the days when I can "feel" him around me. I realize that sounds crazy. I do. But I can. I woke up this morning early, without an alarm, and realized I'd been dreaming about him. I can never remember my dreams, and I struggled for a bit to remember that one, but to no avail. And it was a mix of him and J; all mixed up together. I remember that much, but that's about it, and I couldn't have sorted it out if I'd tried. But it was a good start to the day, feeling close to him.
I want to see him. I want to see him in my children. I look at C and just stare at him, hoping that some expression of his daddy's will pop up on that sweet face. I can hear his laugh, so clearly. I am comforted knowing that I am touching something that he touched. God, how creepy is that?!?
Two Fridays ago, I took J to the condo for the first time. he's going to help me get it ready to rent and stopped by after dinner for him to get an idea of what would be needed. It was the first time I was there after dark, since I'd lived there. I warned J before we walked in that it was a bit stinky. It was the alcoholic Dan smell. The smell of alcohol leaving his pores when his body couldn't process it any longer, mixed with a bit of sweat. It was the smell of my family room before D started sleeping in the basement. I remember it vividly, how I'd walk in in the morning to wake him and this smell permeated the family room. But now, in a closed up condo, it seemed even more concentrated to me. After we left, I asked him if he smelled anything and he said he did but it wasn't bad, just a bit "sour." He didn't think it was strong at all, but to me, it's all I could smell and it was overwhelming.
I could tell that J seemed a bit uncomfortable there. He told me after the fact that he felt like he was intruding. We were there for about 45 minutes. We were standing, talking about what needed to be done, and he was making some notes. I started looking around and memories came flooding back, good and bad. A lot bad. During the silence I noticed the ticking of a clock on the wall. It was a new clock that he must have purchased, and the tick tocking seemed so LOUD to me. It got to a point when it was all I could focus on. I suddenly felt like I was experiencing what he had. Nightime, silence, except for a ticking clock. And it felt so lonely. He must have been so lonely. He slept in the floor of the living room, next to this ticking clock. I know him well enough to know that must have affected him in some way. I was crying, and told J that we needed to leave. I'd reached my max and couldn't deal anymore.
Last Wed, he and a friend removed the two loveseats from the condo. They were trashed, and they just took them to a dumpster. I knew that I could not be there for that. To me, I was removing part of him from that condo. And I couldn't be present for it. When J got home, sweet Sierra was all over him sniffing. He realized that she must have smelled D on his clothes.
I want to see him. I want to see him in my children. I look at C and just stare at him, hoping that some expression of his daddy's will pop up on that sweet face. I can hear his laugh, so clearly. I am comforted knowing that I am touching something that he touched. God, how creepy is that?!?
Two Fridays ago, I took J to the condo for the first time. he's going to help me get it ready to rent and stopped by after dinner for him to get an idea of what would be needed. It was the first time I was there after dark, since I'd lived there. I warned J before we walked in that it was a bit stinky. It was the alcoholic Dan smell. The smell of alcohol leaving his pores when his body couldn't process it any longer, mixed with a bit of sweat. It was the smell of my family room before D started sleeping in the basement. I remember it vividly, how I'd walk in in the morning to wake him and this smell permeated the family room. But now, in a closed up condo, it seemed even more concentrated to me. After we left, I asked him if he smelled anything and he said he did but it wasn't bad, just a bit "sour." He didn't think it was strong at all, but to me, it's all I could smell and it was overwhelming.
I could tell that J seemed a bit uncomfortable there. He told me after the fact that he felt like he was intruding. We were there for about 45 minutes. We were standing, talking about what needed to be done, and he was making some notes. I started looking around and memories came flooding back, good and bad. A lot bad. During the silence I noticed the ticking of a clock on the wall. It was a new clock that he must have purchased, and the tick tocking seemed so LOUD to me. It got to a point when it was all I could focus on. I suddenly felt like I was experiencing what he had. Nightime, silence, except for a ticking clock. And it felt so lonely. He must have been so lonely. He slept in the floor of the living room, next to this ticking clock. I know him well enough to know that must have affected him in some way. I was crying, and told J that we needed to leave. I'd reached my max and couldn't deal anymore.
Last Wed, he and a friend removed the two loveseats from the condo. They were trashed, and they just took them to a dumpster. I knew that I could not be there for that. To me, I was removing part of him from that condo. And I couldn't be present for it. When J got home, sweet Sierra was all over him sniffing. He realized that she must have smelled D on his clothes.
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Woah
I just saw a link to this article on FB. Holy hell. With the exception of actually divorcing Dan, this is me, this was us. Some pieces are so right on that it's eerie. I'm floored at the similarities.
Oddly, I found it comforting to know that her husband died within 19 days of being given the diagnosis of alcoholic hepatitis. I've been too busy to research it, and honestly it never occurred to me to research it, but I'm now curious what the recovery rate is for this form of hepatitis.
Alcoholic hepatitis was actually the 2nd diagnosis listed on Dan's death certificate. Dan's death certificate. How strange to say that. I actually only looked at it on the way to the Celebration of Life for him, not quite 2 weeks ago. I had picked up the copies and was taking them to his brother so that he can close his estate. In a state of denial of course, I looked at it. And it felt like I'd been hit by a truck. Date of Death. How does he even have a "date of death?" And my heart sank when I saw his marital status listed as divorced. It somehow seems nicer to me to die married. I know I know. Completely illogical. And at the bottom were the diagnoses. I wasn't expecting that, as I'd only seen one other death cert and that was his moms. The first was hepatorenal syndrome, which basically means that your liver shuts down your kidneys, and then your kidneys get so bad that there's no possible way for your liver to improve. It was mentioned to me several times in the hospital, but no one ever confirmed. It's a dx of exclusion, so basically you rule everything else out and that's what you end of up with. The 2nd dx was alcoholic hepatitis.
http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/05/27/surviving-an-alcoholic/?rref=opinion&module=Ribbon&version=context®ion=Header&action=click&contentCollection=Opinion&pgtype=Blogs&_r=0
"Robert’s addiction caused chaos in our marriage, our happily-ever-after days got hijacked at the bar, revealing the ugly underbelly of our often admired marriage. The others in the group had been looking forward to their futures, whereas I worried about fresh troubles each day. While they felt the loss of a partner, I’d lost Robert long ago to a never-ending drink of Scotch. They saw their lives as bleak and empty; I’d found some peace and comfort.
Transformed from wife to detective, I began kissing for the sake of sniffing, snooping for receipts to see how much liquor he bought and how often, discovering hidden trash bags full of empty bottles. The confrontations escalated, initiated by me. I was outraged by Robert’s denial and disregard; yet protective and heartbroken, wanting to save him from himself."
I want to post this on FB. I want to scream it from the mountain tops but I won't. Because it doesn't need to be done. It would be me, admitting that Dan was an alcoholic, to the world. I'm not ready for that; not sure I would EVER be ready for that. He deserves his privacy re: this issue, at least now. And admittedly, I don't want to tarnish any thoughts of him that others might have. Ever the enabler I suppose, but at this point, I'm ok with that.
Oddly, I found it comforting to know that her husband died within 19 days of being given the diagnosis of alcoholic hepatitis. I've been too busy to research it, and honestly it never occurred to me to research it, but I'm now curious what the recovery rate is for this form of hepatitis.
Alcoholic hepatitis was actually the 2nd diagnosis listed on Dan's death certificate. Dan's death certificate. How strange to say that. I actually only looked at it on the way to the Celebration of Life for him, not quite 2 weeks ago. I had picked up the copies and was taking them to his brother so that he can close his estate. In a state of denial of course, I looked at it. And it felt like I'd been hit by a truck. Date of Death. How does he even have a "date of death?" And my heart sank when I saw his marital status listed as divorced. It somehow seems nicer to me to die married. I know I know. Completely illogical. And at the bottom were the diagnoses. I wasn't expecting that, as I'd only seen one other death cert and that was his moms. The first was hepatorenal syndrome, which basically means that your liver shuts down your kidneys, and then your kidneys get so bad that there's no possible way for your liver to improve. It was mentioned to me several times in the hospital, but no one ever confirmed. It's a dx of exclusion, so basically you rule everything else out and that's what you end of up with. The 2nd dx was alcoholic hepatitis.
http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/05/27/surviving-an-alcoholic/?rref=opinion&module=Ribbon&version=context®ion=Header&action=click&contentCollection=Opinion&pgtype=Blogs&_r=0
"Robert’s addiction caused chaos in our marriage, our happily-ever-after days got hijacked at the bar, revealing the ugly underbelly of our often admired marriage. The others in the group had been looking forward to their futures, whereas I worried about fresh troubles each day. While they felt the loss of a partner, I’d lost Robert long ago to a never-ending drink of Scotch. They saw their lives as bleak and empty; I’d found some peace and comfort.
Transformed from wife to detective, I began kissing for the sake of sniffing, snooping for receipts to see how much liquor he bought and how often, discovering hidden trash bags full of empty bottles. The confrontations escalated, initiated by me. I was outraged by Robert’s denial and disregard; yet protective and heartbroken, wanting to save him from himself."
I want to post this on FB. I want to scream it from the mountain tops but I won't. Because it doesn't need to be done. It would be me, admitting that Dan was an alcoholic, to the world. I'm not ready for that; not sure I would EVER be ready for that. He deserves his privacy re: this issue, at least now. And admittedly, I don't want to tarnish any thoughts of him that others might have. Ever the enabler I suppose, but at this point, I'm ok with that.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
talked with the neighbors
J and I went yesterday to get D's car from his condo. I knew it had a flat tire, but the battery was also dead. While J was fixing that, a neighbor came by walking her dog and asked "is that Dan?" in regards to J. His back was facing her at the time. My voice just caught in my throat as she walked closer. I somehow managed to get out "no, it's not Dan. He passed away." By then, J had turned around and was right next to me.
I learned that she was the neighbor who called 911 for him. She's also a nurse. She started talking, and I started crying and she stopped. J told her to keep talking, because I wanted to know, and then he walked away. She looked at me and said "he loved you. He did. He talked about you all the time, and he LOVED those kids." And...I lost it. He couldn't remember my phone number, and had told her that me and the kids were his only family. Clearly, neither one thought to look for my number in his phone, which he had with him.
I cannot TELL you the relief I felt to hear her say she was with him that morning. Her voice was so calm and soothing and I'm sure that was comforting to him. And to just know that he wasn't alone. I mean, I knew he wasn't, but she had his best interests in mind. She seemed to be an angel to me. I am just so glad he wasn't alone, and he knew that someone cared.
Her story was very consistent with the story I'd heard from the dr. Another neighbor found him that morning, and then called her (Shannon), to come take a look at him, since she's a nurse. She told me that he was completely coherent, and oriented x 3. And also very very jaundiced already. He told her that he thought he'd had a seizure the night before, in the parking lot, and he fell. She said he had a spot on his forehead and side of his head that was consistent with a fall. He told her he'd been too weak to get inside so crawled in his car for the night. She said the smell of alcohol was heavy on his breath, and that was probably 12 hours without anything to drink. She said he apologized to her for soiling himself. He told Ron that he'd come down to check on his car battery and that he hadn't been out of his condo in 3 days. He fought them on calling 911, said that he just wanted to go back upstairs. She and the other neighbor (Ron) fought right back and called anyway.
She said that he gave her permission to list her name/number as a person to contact. She said that she called him and talked to him while he was in the hospital. he told her he was being transferred to a larger hospital that had the equipment they needed to treat him. He thought he was going to BJC (would have been his preference), but instead he was taken to SLU. She did not know this, so once he was transferred both she and Ron called the area hospitals trying to find him, but they had no luck. Ron tried to track me down, but couldn't remember my first name. They both said they'd tried to figure out how to get in his condo to find contact information from me. After we left, I realized that they could have just went and opened his door, knowing now that he had left it unlocked.
Once she left, I just walked over and collapsed on his car door. I was completely drained and really felt like I'd been hit by a truck. We did exchange phone numbers and she made it clear she was happy to talk with me again. I definitely want to. It was so helpful to talk to her.
Not only do I now know he was in good hands, but I know that he had no ill-will toward me that day. No mention of "don't you dare call Stacey. I don't want her to know." I never thought that was the case, but it had crossed my mind. But it made me feel so much better to know that he talked about me in a positive light. Not for my own selfishness or self-esteem, but simply to know that he still thought, after all that had happened, that I was a good person, and one that he could count on. I made comments in an earlier post that maybe he would have just told me to get the hell away had I shown up at the hospital. I now know that wouldn't have happened, and am grateful for that knowledge, but now I feel so sad that if I had known, he most likely would have welcomed me. I think, simply, that he was very sick. After we talked, and I admitted to his alcoholism, Shannon even said "I bet he just wanted to get back upstairs so it would end there." And I can see that. What I realized later that day was that he had SEEN himself jaundiced. It was very evident to Shannon and Ron, so he HAD to see it when he looked in the mirror. He had to know what was happening, if not immediately, then soon. And I wonder what he thought about that. Did it scare him? Did it worry him? Did it bring relief? Did he even process what was happening?
I learned that she was the neighbor who called 911 for him. She's also a nurse. She started talking, and I started crying and she stopped. J told her to keep talking, because I wanted to know, and then he walked away. She looked at me and said "he loved you. He did. He talked about you all the time, and he LOVED those kids." And...I lost it. He couldn't remember my phone number, and had told her that me and the kids were his only family. Clearly, neither one thought to look for my number in his phone, which he had with him.
I cannot TELL you the relief I felt to hear her say she was with him that morning. Her voice was so calm and soothing and I'm sure that was comforting to him. And to just know that he wasn't alone. I mean, I knew he wasn't, but she had his best interests in mind. She seemed to be an angel to me. I am just so glad he wasn't alone, and he knew that someone cared.
Her story was very consistent with the story I'd heard from the dr. Another neighbor found him that morning, and then called her (Shannon), to come take a look at him, since she's a nurse. She told me that he was completely coherent, and oriented x 3. And also very very jaundiced already. He told her that he thought he'd had a seizure the night before, in the parking lot, and he fell. She said he had a spot on his forehead and side of his head that was consistent with a fall. He told her he'd been too weak to get inside so crawled in his car for the night. She said the smell of alcohol was heavy on his breath, and that was probably 12 hours without anything to drink. She said he apologized to her for soiling himself. He told Ron that he'd come down to check on his car battery and that he hadn't been out of his condo in 3 days. He fought them on calling 911, said that he just wanted to go back upstairs. She and the other neighbor (Ron) fought right back and called anyway.
She said that he gave her permission to list her name/number as a person to contact. She said that she called him and talked to him while he was in the hospital. he told her he was being transferred to a larger hospital that had the equipment they needed to treat him. He thought he was going to BJC (would have been his preference), but instead he was taken to SLU. She did not know this, so once he was transferred both she and Ron called the area hospitals trying to find him, but they had no luck. Ron tried to track me down, but couldn't remember my first name. They both said they'd tried to figure out how to get in his condo to find contact information from me. After we left, I realized that they could have just went and opened his door, knowing now that he had left it unlocked.
Once she left, I just walked over and collapsed on his car door. I was completely drained and really felt like I'd been hit by a truck. We did exchange phone numbers and she made it clear she was happy to talk with me again. I definitely want to. It was so helpful to talk to her.
Not only do I now know he was in good hands, but I know that he had no ill-will toward me that day. No mention of "don't you dare call Stacey. I don't want her to know." I never thought that was the case, but it had crossed my mind. But it made me feel so much better to know that he talked about me in a positive light. Not for my own selfishness or self-esteem, but simply to know that he still thought, after all that had happened, that I was a good person, and one that he could count on. I made comments in an earlier post that maybe he would have just told me to get the hell away had I shown up at the hospital. I now know that wouldn't have happened, and am grateful for that knowledge, but now I feel so sad that if I had known, he most likely would have welcomed me. I think, simply, that he was very sick. After we talked, and I admitted to his alcoholism, Shannon even said "I bet he just wanted to get back upstairs so it would end there." And I can see that. What I realized later that day was that he had SEEN himself jaundiced. It was very evident to Shannon and Ron, so he HAD to see it when he looked in the mirror. He had to know what was happening, if not immediately, then soon. And I wonder what he thought about that. Did it scare him? Did it worry him? Did it bring relief? Did he even process what was happening?
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Regret
This has been bugging me, and it works its way into my thoughts daily. I don't necessarily feel guilt, for anything really. But I do feel regret. For not knowing he was in the hospital for so long. I know that was completely out of my control and there was absolutely nothing I could have done about it, but the scenarios I've played out in my head, had I known...well I just wish I'd known.
Was he lonely during that time? Was he even alert? Aside from the day the dr called to tell me he was headed to the ICU, I never really talked to anyone about what happened during those first 10 days.
I could have visited. Maybe not daily, but I could have stopped by to let him know someone cared. It's very possible he didn't want anyone there, even me, maybe even ESPECIALLY me, and I get that. I'm sure there was a phone in his room. I'm sure at some point he was cognizant enough that he could have reached out if he'd wanted, or had a nurse call. But maybe not. The encephalopathy caused by the hepatitis left him very confused.
I could have taken the kids to see him. They could have seen him ALIVE. They could have said goodbye. Maybe seeing them would have given him incentive to fight and to try to get better. But, was that already a losing battle anyway? He deteriorated while in the hospital. I suppose he was heading for death, regardless of his possible motivation to change his behaviors.
We could have talked. Well, I could have talked. Getting Dan to talk on a GOOD day was almost impossible. But yes, I could have talked. I could have looked him in the eye and TALKED to him and known that he heard me. Selfish? Maybe, but I think I earned it. I would have told him the same things I told him while he was in the ICU but maybe he would have responded. Maybe he would have told me to get the hell away and not come back, or maybe he would have told me that he loved me too.
I don't regret anything about making the final decision that led to him moving out. I knew that, despite so many telling me I'd gone above and beyond, that I wasn't ready to throw in the towel. It wasn't time, until it was. And I can look back at that time and feel not good, but at least content that I'd tried everything I knew to try, and had essentially run out of options.
Same thing with moving from separation to divorce. I don't regret the timing of it. I was content for quite awhile and saw no good reason to move quickly so I didn't. Until I met Justin, and knew that I was ready to move forward. And my meeting Justin, encouraged some bad behavior from Dan, which made me realize that was the right time to move towards divorce. If I hadn't met anyone, maybe we'll still just be separated. Or maybe not. But regardless, I don't regret it.
But not getting to spend more time with him in his last few weeks, I regret it so much that it hurts. To not have had the opportunity to what, I don't know. But I didn't have it, so we'll never know. And no, I don't think that I could have miraculously turned him around during that time. But we could have said our peace. Or I could have, at least one last time. And I did get to...I just wish it had been when he had the opportunity to respond.
Was he lonely during that time? Was he even alert? Aside from the day the dr called to tell me he was headed to the ICU, I never really talked to anyone about what happened during those first 10 days.
I could have visited. Maybe not daily, but I could have stopped by to let him know someone cared. It's very possible he didn't want anyone there, even me, maybe even ESPECIALLY me, and I get that. I'm sure there was a phone in his room. I'm sure at some point he was cognizant enough that he could have reached out if he'd wanted, or had a nurse call. But maybe not. The encephalopathy caused by the hepatitis left him very confused.
I could have taken the kids to see him. They could have seen him ALIVE. They could have said goodbye. Maybe seeing them would have given him incentive to fight and to try to get better. But, was that already a losing battle anyway? He deteriorated while in the hospital. I suppose he was heading for death, regardless of his possible motivation to change his behaviors.
We could have talked. Well, I could have talked. Getting Dan to talk on a GOOD day was almost impossible. But yes, I could have talked. I could have looked him in the eye and TALKED to him and known that he heard me. Selfish? Maybe, but I think I earned it. I would have told him the same things I told him while he was in the ICU but maybe he would have responded. Maybe he would have told me to get the hell away and not come back, or maybe he would have told me that he loved me too.
I don't regret anything about making the final decision that led to him moving out. I knew that, despite so many telling me I'd gone above and beyond, that I wasn't ready to throw in the towel. It wasn't time, until it was. And I can look back at that time and feel not good, but at least content that I'd tried everything I knew to try, and had essentially run out of options.
Same thing with moving from separation to divorce. I don't regret the timing of it. I was content for quite awhile and saw no good reason to move quickly so I didn't. Until I met Justin, and knew that I was ready to move forward. And my meeting Justin, encouraged some bad behavior from Dan, which made me realize that was the right time to move towards divorce. If I hadn't met anyone, maybe we'll still just be separated. Or maybe not. But regardless, I don't regret it.
But not getting to spend more time with him in his last few weeks, I regret it so much that it hurts. To not have had the opportunity to what, I don't know. But I didn't have it, so we'll never know. And no, I don't think that I could have miraculously turned him around during that time. But we could have said our peace. Or I could have, at least one last time. And I did get to...I just wish it had been when he had the opportunity to respond.
sad
Blah, things are moving along, away from the day he died, and then BAM something slams into me, or one of my kids and it takes me back there, and back to him in general.
Last night, S mentioned that for my birthday on Sunday we should go out to dinner. I told her that was a great idea, as long as I got to pick, since it was MY bday. She (thankfully!) agreed, and then said "and when it's Father's Day, Justin can pick where HE wants to go." And then she moved on to the twins b-day and then to hers. But my head, and heart, were stuck on the comment she made about J.
How can she easily forget D? How? I played out different scenarios in my head about what she meant. I *hope,*although realize it's most likely not the case, that she said that about J simply because he's a father, not because she was not thinking about her own.
I mentioned it to him last night and he said that C and S have seemed to seek him out more since D died. A always has--they're most definitely buds and have been from the start, but there's been a change with the other two, especially S. He said maybe they've transferred their feelings about Dan to Justin. And I lost it. Although it may be true, and ultimately what I knew would happen, it's not even been three weeks.
It's not fair to Dan that they are doing this. He was their dad. IS their dad. God damn this just breaks my heart. And why in the HELL is this bothering me so much, after he put me through so much. He's their DAD. And while he was alive the possibility of being a good dad was always there. Now that he's not though, my children, HIS children, are ready to forget him.
I know this is healthy. I just didn't expect it to happen so quickly. And, at the same time as S is making this "transition" to J, she's having a lot of somatic complaints that I realized last night are from her grief. At school the last two days her teacher told me she's been VERY quiet, and also for the past few days she's been complaining of stomach aches and headaches. Physically, there's no good reason (and I see no evidence to the contrary) that she would have these. It's her little heads way of processing. Two nights ago she asked me to hold her and she wrapped her self up really tight in her blanket and just cuddled with me. This is not S lol. And then last night, she was tearful for the better part of an hour because her had and belly hurt.
I realized last night that the twins will not remember Dan. Nothing concrete anyway. Nothing other than "he is ashes." I'm so glad I took as many pictures as I did, although now it doesn't seem nearly enough.
Last night, S mentioned that for my birthday on Sunday we should go out to dinner. I told her that was a great idea, as long as I got to pick, since it was MY bday. She (thankfully!) agreed, and then said "and when it's Father's Day, Justin can pick where HE wants to go." And then she moved on to the twins b-day and then to hers. But my head, and heart, were stuck on the comment she made about J.
How can she easily forget D? How? I played out different scenarios in my head about what she meant. I *hope,*although realize it's most likely not the case, that she said that about J simply because he's a father, not because she was not thinking about her own.
I mentioned it to him last night and he said that C and S have seemed to seek him out more since D died. A always has--they're most definitely buds and have been from the start, but there's been a change with the other two, especially S. He said maybe they've transferred their feelings about Dan to Justin. And I lost it. Although it may be true, and ultimately what I knew would happen, it's not even been three weeks.
It's not fair to Dan that they are doing this. He was their dad. IS their dad. God damn this just breaks my heart. And why in the HELL is this bothering me so much, after he put me through so much. He's their DAD. And while he was alive the possibility of being a good dad was always there. Now that he's not though, my children, HIS children, are ready to forget him.
I know this is healthy. I just didn't expect it to happen so quickly. And, at the same time as S is making this "transition" to J, she's having a lot of somatic complaints that I realized last night are from her grief. At school the last two days her teacher told me she's been VERY quiet, and also for the past few days she's been complaining of stomach aches and headaches. Physically, there's no good reason (and I see no evidence to the contrary) that she would have these. It's her little heads way of processing. Two nights ago she asked me to hold her and she wrapped her self up really tight in her blanket and just cuddled with me. This is not S lol. And then last night, she was tearful for the better part of an hour because her had and belly hurt.
I realized last night that the twins will not remember Dan. Nothing concrete anyway. Nothing other than "he is ashes." I'm so glad I took as many pictures as I did, although now it doesn't seem nearly enough.
Thursday, May 7, 2015
April 16
I've been avoiding this post. But I'm feeling completely surrounded by D this morning, like he's all around me, so I may as well just dive in and do this.
April 16 started at 3:30 am with a call from the ICU dr. They had strict instructions to call me with any negative status changes so of course when I heard the phone, I assumed the worst. I sat up in bed, Justin right after me, just holding me and rubbing my back. i hadn't even answered the phone yet and I was already cursing myself for leaving him alone that night. The dr told me that Dan's hemoglobin levels had dropped and he suggested a transfusion. A what? In the past 5 days we had never discussed this. This was also not Dr. P, but an ICU resident. At 3:30 that morning, I'm not sure where the clarity came from to ask questions, reasonable questions, not emotionally distraught ones.
Knowing with almost 100% certainty that life support would be turned off soon, it didn't make sense to me to give a transfusion. In my mind, it just didn't make sense, but then there was still the teeny tiny "what if" in the back of my mind. And, the question kept floating around in my head, but my mouth wouldn't speak it "if we are turning off life support, is this procedure necessary??" At 3:30 am, with just minutes to make a decision, it didn't seem like a reasonable solution. I also had the clarity to let the dr know I needed to talk to Mike before making the decision. I assumed he'd be on the same page and want me to say no. I wasn't going to battle him on this one. I knew in my heart it wouldn't help.
I called him and he didn't answer, but called back just a few minutes later. I relayed my discussion with the dr. Mike said what do you want to do? We'll let them do the transfusion, right?
What the what? This was Mike. Ever practical and realistic, holding on to the very last shred of hope to save his brother. After him letting me make all the calls up til now, of course I was going to let him have this one, and I never let on that I would have been ok with NOT doing it. Looking back thought, I am SO glad we did it. It certainly didn't hurt anything, and if we hadn't, I would have always wondered. So I called the dr back to give him the ok, and then had to follow procedure of talking to two other "witnesses" since I was agreeing via phone.
Just another grey area surrounding DNR. We never talked about transfusions. About if a few pints of blood might save his life, would he want it.
This was playing on the radio on my way to the hospital to see him that morning. I was trying hard to get there in time to hear the drs rounding on him. This song has reminded me of him for years. YEARS. "Do you still feel the pain of the scars that won't heal." I always knew it would have significant meaning to me. Always. And here it was. My head was in denial though. I thought "is this the day he will die?" And then "no way. It's not happening today. Dr. P said that it would take a few days. This might be the beginning of the end, but today is not the end."
Once I arrived, I learned that there was not much change, except for the transfusion, which had gone as planned. His creatinine levels continued to slowly rise.
Dr. P came and talked to me. We talked about the transfusion. He apologized for the entire situation. He told me that he hadn't discussed the possibility of a transfusion because he didn't think it would ever come in to play. He said if he had been working, he would never have called me. He said that while he completely understood why I had agreed to it, that going forward he would suggest no more transfusions, as it was an effort in futility.
And then he dove into the topic of the day. That there was nothing more we could do for Dan. That we needed to focus on him being comfortable, and begin/continue the conversation re: his wishes and where he was now. He assured me that once the time came, he would be in no pain. They would give him meds ever 5 minutes if needed, but he would not suffer. And there it was again, me all alone, against this dr. I knew he wasn't against me. I knew he was speaking the truth. But, how was this my life? How? how was *I* the person responsible for basically killing someone else. For making the decision to take my children's father away from them. It was me. And honestly, I didn't mind the responsibility itself. In my heart (and head) I knew that I was the only one that Dan would want making these decisions. It made sense, and I was happy to take that on for him, but it was more of a "I'm 40 fucking years old and faced with this decision. HOW?"
So I sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed. And Dr P just stood there rubbing my back. The nurses were crying too. On the 2nd day in ICU, he'd been moved to a medical ICU floor, from the Neuro ICU floor he'd been on. ALthough I had tunnel vision in those few days, it seemed like the majority of the patients were older, some with few if any visitors. Dan was 45, with a picture of his 3 little kids next to him. With flowers that Sophie had picked on that Sat when I first got the call in a baggie resting on his chest. With a rosary that a friend's little boy had made next to his head. With a Blues pin attached to his hospital gown. This was someone who had the WORLD to live for. The FUCKING WORLD and he was incapacitated in the ICU with his liver and kidneys failing and god only knows what going on in his bowels. These were hanging in his room. It was just so SO appropriate for him. And the funny thing? I had brought them on the 15th. I sat up in bed that morning and said "Where's his fucking marine flag? I think it's in the garage." I knew that if he was going out, he'd do it surrounded by things he loved. I stumbled out of bed and Justin stopped me and said "no, I'll get them." I told him he didn't know where to look, but yet he came back with these 4 items that just about summed Dan up better than anything else could. We had made him a person, not a patient, and the nurses couldn't stop their own tears.
Dr P left me alone and M, C and H showed up soon after. I briefly discussed my convo with Dr P, and then Mike asked if I wanted to talk alone. We went out into the hallway, where he once again told me he was on my side and would agree to whatever I needed. He also told me he was ready to remove Dan from life support as soon as I gave the ok. He wasn't pushing; I never felt like he pushed me into anything, or tried to change my mind about a decision I'd made. I told him that I was almost ready, but that the closer it got to that point, the harder it was.
I went back in the room and sat next to Dan again, and grabbed his hand and just cried. I didn't know it was possible for someone to cry so much. More bloodwork was done; labs came back. There was either no change, or change in a negative direction. Dr P came in again and talked with us, mostly to Mike as he had not been there for our earlier conversation. I listened. I cried more. Mike told the dr to give us a few more hours.
He came back in about 1:30 I think. Suddenly, it was just me and Dr P and Mike in the room. We revisited the same stuff, me sitting next to Dan, the Dr. standing across from me. Mike at the foot of the bed. Dr P again brought up his DNR status. Telling me again he could live indefinitely in the state he was. He told me that he'd seen patients, once life support was removed live for days, and others (who he expected to survive for quite a while), die almost instantly. There was no predicting what might happen. He reminded me that they'd make Dan comfortable, giving him Morphine around the clock, if that was necessary.
In my head, I was almost there. I looked at him and knew that he wouldn't want to be this way. I joked that he was mother fucking me as we sat there, knowing that I'd put him in this situation. I knew it was the right thing to do. I knew I had a family to take care of, and job to not get fired from. I needed to take care of his children. But yet, there was their dad, and I was faced with this god awful decision.
I looked at Dr P and said "I know you've said it before, but please tell me again. There's no way he can get better." He came over and knelt beside me. On his hand, he ticked things off as he mentioned them. His infection. Possible issues with his bowels. He's bleeding somewhere we can't pinpoint. His liver. At this point he mentioned that Dan was not a candidate for a liver transplant. This was not the first discussion about this. Anytime ANYONE made this comment, I quickly followed up with "he wouldn't WANT a new one." This time, Mike chimed in "and let's face it, there are so many others that should be in line before him." I shot him the look of death and just told him to shut up, which he did. Dr P continued. His kidneys. They'd tried what they could. They'd hoped they could pull him through. They couldn't.
I think I just shook my head up and down. I think I might have said "ok." Someone confirmed with me that I was ready. I was. The dr left to set things in motion. Mike left me alone. I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut over and over and over. Finally, every was back in the room. Mike had briefed them. A few minutes later, Dr P and the two nurses came back in. The gave him a shot of morphine right away. This was really the beginning of the end. Dr P told everyone to go to the waiting room. I knew this was expected of me, but I couldn't go. There was no way I was leaving him at that point. Dr P knew there was no arguing with me. He'd already warned me of what might happen after extubation, some coughing, sounds of choking as the tube was being pulled out. I was ok with that. I was just not going to leave him. They did make me move to a chair in the corner of the room.
I remember looking at the clock. He was extubated very close to 2:15. There was no coughing. No choking sounds. It went as well as it could I suppose. I remember looking for non-verbals between Dr P and the nurses, trying to figure out if it was going as planned. His eyes opened, and stayed fixed. Much like you would expect of someone who was already dead. I remember thinking this. I remember thinking that maybe we should shut his eyelids. I also remember thinking that this was the last time I'd be able to see his eyes and it didn't matter to me how he looked. He was making a gurgling sound in his throat. I've read about this since then, commonly known as a "death rattle." I had heard this phrase before, but didn't realize that it meant that death was immiment.
M, C and H came back in. Mike immediately commented on his eyes---they were making him uncomfortable, so the nurse closed them. I remember being pissed about this. The gurgling noise was upsetting C (it DID sound horrible), and the nurse just explained it away as normal in the state he was in.
The nurse turned off the monitor that was tracking his heart, lungs, etc. I asked her to turn them back on. She seemed shocked and told me she could monitor him at the nurses station. Luckily, H chimed in that she'd like to see them too, and so the monitor was turned back on.
I was next to him again, C right behind me with her hands on my shoulders. H was across from me, on Dan's other side. Mike was pacing.
I first noticed his heart rate. Big spikes then flat, big spikes then flat. I kept looking from the monitor to him. Back and forth back and forth. I was holding his hand with both of mine. I kept looking at his chest. He was still breathing. And then I looked at the monitor and his respirations said 0. I remember saying what the hell, he's not breathing. C said "oh I think he is, just not enough to be picked up by the monitor." I didn't believe her. I looked across at H, who although not a dr may as well be. She looked confused. What in the fuck was going on. His respirations were 0. His heart rate was flat. But the other monitor, can't remember what it was, something was still "there." At this point, I didn't realize I had completely latched on to his forearm and I was moving him a bit, which was keeping something "going" on the screen. H told me to let go of him, which I did, and everything went flat. H said "he's gone. I think he's gone." C was in denial. She said no. I said "yes, he's done. That's it. He's done."
It had taken 20 minutes. That was it. He was ready. His body was ready. I found out after the fact, that immediately after extubation, his lungs were already down to 30%. One of the two organs that we didn't think were failing him, clearly did.
The dr came in about 10 minutes later. He checked his heart and his pulse and looked over at me and whispered "He's gone. I'm so sorry." I said "you said it might take 48 hours." In my head, I had planned on that time. I hadn't expected my time with him to be ripped so short. He just apologized and said there was no way to predict, which my head knew, but my heart wasn't happy with.
The chaplain came in and offered a nice prayer. He asked where "the body" needed to be transported to. I let Mike deal with that. Dan was officially "a body" but yet I hadn't stopped holding his hand. We stayed for close to an hour, I think, getting a plan together for the rest of the day. Finally, everyone started packing things up. Putting the kids pictures away. Taking the things that had been surrounding him. The jerseys came down. The shoes he was wearing the day he was admitted came out of the drawer. "Do you want them?" I wasn't sure, but I wasn't ready to leave them. Leaving him was enough. The shoes are still in the trunk of my car.
C and H left with the bags. I walked out so M could have his time with Dan. When he was done, he told me to take as much time as I needed. I stayed for another 10 minutes I guess. I kissed him. I rubbed his head. It was already getting cold. I told him that I loved him. That I'd always loved him, and that I'd love him forever. I told him I would take care of our children. I told him that he should never worry about that. I told him I was so sorry that I had to leave him there. That I was so sorry that I couldn't save him, as I had promised his mom in the letter I wrote to her after she had died.
And then I left him.
We'd all made a plan to meet for a drink, to serve as a "transition" for me between leaving the hospital and picking up my kids. I already had a friend ready to babysit, as I had expected to be spending the night in the hospital, so we all planned to meet at one of his favorite restaurants after I got the kids home.
It was nice. It was as he would have wanted. It was me, C, H and her husband and Mike. Around 8, J sent me a text trying to find out where I was. I told him I was finishing a beer, so he came to meet us. I have never been so happy to see him. I saw him walking through the restaurant trying to find our table. Once M saw him, he popped out of the booth so J could sit down. He just grabbed me and held me and there I was sobbing again. Nothing could take my pain away, but him being there helped to "steady" me. I knew he'd take care of me. And he did. And he once again made a potentially awkward situation normal. There he was, sitting with Dan's brother and cousin (whom he'd never met), and it didn't phase him. Thank God for him, that's all I can say.
I'm exhausted. There's more to say, but need to do it another time.
April 16 started at 3:30 am with a call from the ICU dr. They had strict instructions to call me with any negative status changes so of course when I heard the phone, I assumed the worst. I sat up in bed, Justin right after me, just holding me and rubbing my back. i hadn't even answered the phone yet and I was already cursing myself for leaving him alone that night. The dr told me that Dan's hemoglobin levels had dropped and he suggested a transfusion. A what? In the past 5 days we had never discussed this. This was also not Dr. P, but an ICU resident. At 3:30 that morning, I'm not sure where the clarity came from to ask questions, reasonable questions, not emotionally distraught ones.
Knowing with almost 100% certainty that life support would be turned off soon, it didn't make sense to me to give a transfusion. In my mind, it just didn't make sense, but then there was still the teeny tiny "what if" in the back of my mind. And, the question kept floating around in my head, but my mouth wouldn't speak it "if we are turning off life support, is this procedure necessary??" At 3:30 am, with just minutes to make a decision, it didn't seem like a reasonable solution. I also had the clarity to let the dr know I needed to talk to Mike before making the decision. I assumed he'd be on the same page and want me to say no. I wasn't going to battle him on this one. I knew in my heart it wouldn't help.
I called him and he didn't answer, but called back just a few minutes later. I relayed my discussion with the dr. Mike said what do you want to do? We'll let them do the transfusion, right?
What the what? This was Mike. Ever practical and realistic, holding on to the very last shred of hope to save his brother. After him letting me make all the calls up til now, of course I was going to let him have this one, and I never let on that I would have been ok with NOT doing it. Looking back thought, I am SO glad we did it. It certainly didn't hurt anything, and if we hadn't, I would have always wondered. So I called the dr back to give him the ok, and then had to follow procedure of talking to two other "witnesses" since I was agreeing via phone.
Just another grey area surrounding DNR. We never talked about transfusions. About if a few pints of blood might save his life, would he want it.
This was playing on the radio on my way to the hospital to see him that morning. I was trying hard to get there in time to hear the drs rounding on him. This song has reminded me of him for years. YEARS. "Do you still feel the pain of the scars that won't heal." I always knew it would have significant meaning to me. Always. And here it was. My head was in denial though. I thought "is this the day he will die?" And then "no way. It's not happening today. Dr. P said that it would take a few days. This might be the beginning of the end, but today is not the end."
Once I arrived, I learned that there was not much change, except for the transfusion, which had gone as planned. His creatinine levels continued to slowly rise.
Dr. P came and talked to me. We talked about the transfusion. He apologized for the entire situation. He told me that he hadn't discussed the possibility of a transfusion because he didn't think it would ever come in to play. He said if he had been working, he would never have called me. He said that while he completely understood why I had agreed to it, that going forward he would suggest no more transfusions, as it was an effort in futility.
And then he dove into the topic of the day. That there was nothing more we could do for Dan. That we needed to focus on him being comfortable, and begin/continue the conversation re: his wishes and where he was now. He assured me that once the time came, he would be in no pain. They would give him meds ever 5 minutes if needed, but he would not suffer. And there it was again, me all alone, against this dr. I knew he wasn't against me. I knew he was speaking the truth. But, how was this my life? How? how was *I* the person responsible for basically killing someone else. For making the decision to take my children's father away from them. It was me. And honestly, I didn't mind the responsibility itself. In my heart (and head) I knew that I was the only one that Dan would want making these decisions. It made sense, and I was happy to take that on for him, but it was more of a "I'm 40 fucking years old and faced with this decision. HOW?"
So I sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed. And Dr P just stood there rubbing my back. The nurses were crying too. On the 2nd day in ICU, he'd been moved to a medical ICU floor, from the Neuro ICU floor he'd been on. ALthough I had tunnel vision in those few days, it seemed like the majority of the patients were older, some with few if any visitors. Dan was 45, with a picture of his 3 little kids next to him. With flowers that Sophie had picked on that Sat when I first got the call in a baggie resting on his chest. With a rosary that a friend's little boy had made next to his head. With a Blues pin attached to his hospital gown. This was someone who had the WORLD to live for. The FUCKING WORLD and he was incapacitated in the ICU with his liver and kidneys failing and god only knows what going on in his bowels. These were hanging in his room. It was just so SO appropriate for him. And the funny thing? I had brought them on the 15th. I sat up in bed that morning and said "Where's his fucking marine flag? I think it's in the garage." I knew that if he was going out, he'd do it surrounded by things he loved. I stumbled out of bed and Justin stopped me and said "no, I'll get them." I told him he didn't know where to look, but yet he came back with these 4 items that just about summed Dan up better than anything else could. We had made him a person, not a patient, and the nurses couldn't stop their own tears.
Dr P left me alone and M, C and H showed up soon after. I briefly discussed my convo with Dr P, and then Mike asked if I wanted to talk alone. We went out into the hallway, where he once again told me he was on my side and would agree to whatever I needed. He also told me he was ready to remove Dan from life support as soon as I gave the ok. He wasn't pushing; I never felt like he pushed me into anything, or tried to change my mind about a decision I'd made. I told him that I was almost ready, but that the closer it got to that point, the harder it was.
I went back in the room and sat next to Dan again, and grabbed his hand and just cried. I didn't know it was possible for someone to cry so much. More bloodwork was done; labs came back. There was either no change, or change in a negative direction. Dr P came in again and talked with us, mostly to Mike as he had not been there for our earlier conversation. I listened. I cried more. Mike told the dr to give us a few more hours.
He came back in about 1:30 I think. Suddenly, it was just me and Dr P and Mike in the room. We revisited the same stuff, me sitting next to Dan, the Dr. standing across from me. Mike at the foot of the bed. Dr P again brought up his DNR status. Telling me again he could live indefinitely in the state he was. He told me that he'd seen patients, once life support was removed live for days, and others (who he expected to survive for quite a while), die almost instantly. There was no predicting what might happen. He reminded me that they'd make Dan comfortable, giving him Morphine around the clock, if that was necessary.
In my head, I was almost there. I looked at him and knew that he wouldn't want to be this way. I joked that he was mother fucking me as we sat there, knowing that I'd put him in this situation. I knew it was the right thing to do. I knew I had a family to take care of, and job to not get fired from. I needed to take care of his children. But yet, there was their dad, and I was faced with this god awful decision.
I looked at Dr P and said "I know you've said it before, but please tell me again. There's no way he can get better." He came over and knelt beside me. On his hand, he ticked things off as he mentioned them. His infection. Possible issues with his bowels. He's bleeding somewhere we can't pinpoint. His liver. At this point he mentioned that Dan was not a candidate for a liver transplant. This was not the first discussion about this. Anytime ANYONE made this comment, I quickly followed up with "he wouldn't WANT a new one." This time, Mike chimed in "and let's face it, there are so many others that should be in line before him." I shot him the look of death and just told him to shut up, which he did. Dr P continued. His kidneys. They'd tried what they could. They'd hoped they could pull him through. They couldn't.
I think I just shook my head up and down. I think I might have said "ok." Someone confirmed with me that I was ready. I was. The dr left to set things in motion. Mike left me alone. I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut over and over and over. Finally, every was back in the room. Mike had briefed them. A few minutes later, Dr P and the two nurses came back in. The gave him a shot of morphine right away. This was really the beginning of the end. Dr P told everyone to go to the waiting room. I knew this was expected of me, but I couldn't go. There was no way I was leaving him at that point. Dr P knew there was no arguing with me. He'd already warned me of what might happen after extubation, some coughing, sounds of choking as the tube was being pulled out. I was ok with that. I was just not going to leave him. They did make me move to a chair in the corner of the room.
I remember looking at the clock. He was extubated very close to 2:15. There was no coughing. No choking sounds. It went as well as it could I suppose. I remember looking for non-verbals between Dr P and the nurses, trying to figure out if it was going as planned. His eyes opened, and stayed fixed. Much like you would expect of someone who was already dead. I remember thinking this. I remember thinking that maybe we should shut his eyelids. I also remember thinking that this was the last time I'd be able to see his eyes and it didn't matter to me how he looked. He was making a gurgling sound in his throat. I've read about this since then, commonly known as a "death rattle." I had heard this phrase before, but didn't realize that it meant that death was immiment.
M, C and H came back in. Mike immediately commented on his eyes---they were making him uncomfortable, so the nurse closed them. I remember being pissed about this. The gurgling noise was upsetting C (it DID sound horrible), and the nurse just explained it away as normal in the state he was in.
The nurse turned off the monitor that was tracking his heart, lungs, etc. I asked her to turn them back on. She seemed shocked and told me she could monitor him at the nurses station. Luckily, H chimed in that she'd like to see them too, and so the monitor was turned back on.
I was next to him again, C right behind me with her hands on my shoulders. H was across from me, on Dan's other side. Mike was pacing.
I first noticed his heart rate. Big spikes then flat, big spikes then flat. I kept looking from the monitor to him. Back and forth back and forth. I was holding his hand with both of mine. I kept looking at his chest. He was still breathing. And then I looked at the monitor and his respirations said 0. I remember saying what the hell, he's not breathing. C said "oh I think he is, just not enough to be picked up by the monitor." I didn't believe her. I looked across at H, who although not a dr may as well be. She looked confused. What in the fuck was going on. His respirations were 0. His heart rate was flat. But the other monitor, can't remember what it was, something was still "there." At this point, I didn't realize I had completely latched on to his forearm and I was moving him a bit, which was keeping something "going" on the screen. H told me to let go of him, which I did, and everything went flat. H said "he's gone. I think he's gone." C was in denial. She said no. I said "yes, he's done. That's it. He's done."
It had taken 20 minutes. That was it. He was ready. His body was ready. I found out after the fact, that immediately after extubation, his lungs were already down to 30%. One of the two organs that we didn't think were failing him, clearly did.
The dr came in about 10 minutes later. He checked his heart and his pulse and looked over at me and whispered "He's gone. I'm so sorry." I said "you said it might take 48 hours." In my head, I had planned on that time. I hadn't expected my time with him to be ripped so short. He just apologized and said there was no way to predict, which my head knew, but my heart wasn't happy with.
The chaplain came in and offered a nice prayer. He asked where "the body" needed to be transported to. I let Mike deal with that. Dan was officially "a body" but yet I hadn't stopped holding his hand. We stayed for close to an hour, I think, getting a plan together for the rest of the day. Finally, everyone started packing things up. Putting the kids pictures away. Taking the things that had been surrounding him. The jerseys came down. The shoes he was wearing the day he was admitted came out of the drawer. "Do you want them?" I wasn't sure, but I wasn't ready to leave them. Leaving him was enough. The shoes are still in the trunk of my car.
C and H left with the bags. I walked out so M could have his time with Dan. When he was done, he told me to take as much time as I needed. I stayed for another 10 minutes I guess. I kissed him. I rubbed his head. It was already getting cold. I told him that I loved him. That I'd always loved him, and that I'd love him forever. I told him I would take care of our children. I told him that he should never worry about that. I told him I was so sorry that I had to leave him there. That I was so sorry that I couldn't save him, as I had promised his mom in the letter I wrote to her after she had died.
And then I left him.
We'd all made a plan to meet for a drink, to serve as a "transition" for me between leaving the hospital and picking up my kids. I already had a friend ready to babysit, as I had expected to be spending the night in the hospital, so we all planned to meet at one of his favorite restaurants after I got the kids home.
It was nice. It was as he would have wanted. It was me, C, H and her husband and Mike. Around 8, J sent me a text trying to find out where I was. I told him I was finishing a beer, so he came to meet us. I have never been so happy to see him. I saw him walking through the restaurant trying to find our table. Once M saw him, he popped out of the booth so J could sit down. He just grabbed me and held me and there I was sobbing again. Nothing could take my pain away, but him being there helped to "steady" me. I knew he'd take care of me. And he did. And he once again made a potentially awkward situation normal. There he was, sitting with Dan's brother and cousin (whom he'd never met), and it didn't phase him. Thank God for him, that's all I can say.
I'm exhausted. There's more to say, but need to do it another time.
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
April15
This was the day that started the end of everything.
I got to the hospital about 9, to sit with him for a while before M got there. It was actually soothing for me to be there by myself, with him. I talked to him, I kissed his forehead, rubbed his arm. I pulled up a chair next to the bed, and grabbed his hand. I noticed that he didn't respond in anyway, not his head moving a bit, not his hand. I squeezed it several times but got nothing in return. I noticed his hands were extremely bloated. They'd been swollen before, but that morning they were clearly changed, his feet too. It was indicative of his kidneys slowly starting their shut down.
I was with him for an hour or so before Mike showed up, and then one of my bffs C showed up as well, completely unannounced, but thank GOD for her. She was my rock for the rest of my journey through this hell.
Dr P came in not long after that. I think I mentioned before, but we had really bonded, starting with our first meeting on Saturday. He was young, maybe early 30's, and he cared. It was obvious. When he came in our room, I truly felt like Dan was his only patient. This morning, I sensed something was different the second he walked in. He was always soft and calming with his words, but on this day nothing could calm me. He talked about Dan's progress through the night, same as every other morning he came to check in. Then, he looked at me, actually he rarely took his eyes off mine as he was speaking. I remember just being drawn to him, knowing he had full power to save Dan, and that his words, whatever he spoke were the truth. This will sound odd, really odd, but now that I think about it, he was really my God for those few days. I have to imagine what I felt for him, the trust I put in him, was how people who are religious feel about God.
He looked at me, after that first discussion of how the night had gone, and gently, slowly and quietly told me there was nothing left for them to try. That although they had thought they could see him through this, his body was not responding to the medicines. They'd officially tried everything and there was no hope. And I thought I was going to die myself. His words knocked the air out of me. And I cried and cried and cried. And thank God C was there with me.
He told me that it was time to think about making him comfortable, that we needed to move from treating him to making him comfortable. He gently told me that Dan could live for months the way he was then (on the vent), but reminded me that it's not what he wanted. And then he came over to me and hugged me. And I sobbed.
Dr P also mentioned that they had sedated him the night before, which is why he didn't respond to me. M asked, after the discussion of turning off life support, could we lower his sedation meds so that he might be responsive. The dr basically said no and that our job was to make him comfortable and it would serve no useful purpose.
After that, in the next few hours we talked about what would happen and when. I was beyond exhausted. Once hearing those words from the dr, I made up my mind that I was going to spend the night. I made some calls, got my kids taken care of, and was in it for the long haul. In the end, as the day wore on and I could barely focus, I asked to talk to Dr P again. I asked if he had any reason to think that Dan wouldn't make it through the night. Not guarenteeing anything, he said that as long as they maintained what they were doing, there was no reason to think he wouldn't survive the night.
His cousin and her husband from New York came in late that morning. I'm so glad she was there. Dan always thought of her more as a sister than a cousin and they connected much better than he and his brother ever had.
All along, even though he was next of kin, M really let me take the lead in making decisions. I knew in my head, as I left him that night, that we would take him off life support the next day. It made sense. It's what he would have wanted. C had mentioned to me that this was just one of my responsibilites...that I was also a mother and I had a job and this could not go on forever. I also heard Dr P's voice telling me once that happened, we might expect him to survive a few days. So I went home to rest up and get some good sleep, in preparation for the next few days with him, never intending to leave. I had been told on a previous night that I couldn't spend the night in his room. That I could sleep in the waiting room and pop in and out of ICU, but that I couldn't set up camp in his room. Once Dr P delivered the news, I just simply said "once it gets to that point (meaning vent turned off), I don't plan to leave him. Is that ok?" And he gave his permission for me to stay. So that's what I was going to do.
I got to the hospital about 9, to sit with him for a while before M got there. It was actually soothing for me to be there by myself, with him. I talked to him, I kissed his forehead, rubbed his arm. I pulled up a chair next to the bed, and grabbed his hand. I noticed that he didn't respond in anyway, not his head moving a bit, not his hand. I squeezed it several times but got nothing in return. I noticed his hands were extremely bloated. They'd been swollen before, but that morning they were clearly changed, his feet too. It was indicative of his kidneys slowly starting their shut down.
I was with him for an hour or so before Mike showed up, and then one of my bffs C showed up as well, completely unannounced, but thank GOD for her. She was my rock for the rest of my journey through this hell.
Dr P came in not long after that. I think I mentioned before, but we had really bonded, starting with our first meeting on Saturday. He was young, maybe early 30's, and he cared. It was obvious. When he came in our room, I truly felt like Dan was his only patient. This morning, I sensed something was different the second he walked in. He was always soft and calming with his words, but on this day nothing could calm me. He talked about Dan's progress through the night, same as every other morning he came to check in. Then, he looked at me, actually he rarely took his eyes off mine as he was speaking. I remember just being drawn to him, knowing he had full power to save Dan, and that his words, whatever he spoke were the truth. This will sound odd, really odd, but now that I think about it, he was really my God for those few days. I have to imagine what I felt for him, the trust I put in him, was how people who are religious feel about God.
He looked at me, after that first discussion of how the night had gone, and gently, slowly and quietly told me there was nothing left for them to try. That although they had thought they could see him through this, his body was not responding to the medicines. They'd officially tried everything and there was no hope. And I thought I was going to die myself. His words knocked the air out of me. And I cried and cried and cried. And thank God C was there with me.
He told me that it was time to think about making him comfortable, that we needed to move from treating him to making him comfortable. He gently told me that Dan could live for months the way he was then (on the vent), but reminded me that it's not what he wanted. And then he came over to me and hugged me. And I sobbed.
Dr P also mentioned that they had sedated him the night before, which is why he didn't respond to me. M asked, after the discussion of turning off life support, could we lower his sedation meds so that he might be responsive. The dr basically said no and that our job was to make him comfortable and it would serve no useful purpose.
After that, in the next few hours we talked about what would happen and when. I was beyond exhausted. Once hearing those words from the dr, I made up my mind that I was going to spend the night. I made some calls, got my kids taken care of, and was in it for the long haul. In the end, as the day wore on and I could barely focus, I asked to talk to Dr P again. I asked if he had any reason to think that Dan wouldn't make it through the night. Not guarenteeing anything, he said that as long as they maintained what they were doing, there was no reason to think he wouldn't survive the night.
His cousin and her husband from New York came in late that morning. I'm so glad she was there. Dan always thought of her more as a sister than a cousin and they connected much better than he and his brother ever had.
All along, even though he was next of kin, M really let me take the lead in making decisions. I knew in my head, as I left him that night, that we would take him off life support the next day. It made sense. It's what he would have wanted. C had mentioned to me that this was just one of my responsibilites...that I was also a mother and I had a job and this could not go on forever. I also heard Dr P's voice telling me once that happened, we might expect him to survive a few days. So I went home to rest up and get some good sleep, in preparation for the next few days with him, never intending to leave. I had been told on a previous night that I couldn't spend the night in his room. That I could sleep in the waiting room and pop in and out of ICU, but that I couldn't set up camp in his room. Once Dr P delivered the news, I just simply said "once it gets to that point (meaning vent turned off), I don't plan to leave him. Is that ok?" And he gave his permission for me to stay. So that's what I was going to do.
Monday, April 27, 2015
Completely drained
What a fucking day.
It started well. I got kids to school on time and made it in time for a 9 am meeting. I felt very motivated and "on." After meeting, I had to call the crematory place. When I was there yesterday, I learned that 1) the dr hadn't signed the death cert, despite the fact that legally they need to do so in 72 hours. 2) Dan's brother hadn't signed the authorization to cremate form. I called to check on status of both, and learned they were still trying to get in touch with both Dr and M.
I got a call about 2 pm saying that the dr had signed, and had sent on to vital records, but that they'd left 3 message for M and he hadn't responded. I was livid. I mean, WHY? What's so hard? So I called him a left a message. It's almost impossible for me to say "cremate" out loud, in regards to Dan. I just can't do it. And I was trying not to be a bitch on the phone, but I just about lost it and got really emotional. The message told him that the dr had signed, and now it was up to him, and that they couldn't do what they needed to do until they heard from him.
And what it felt like I was saying is "I'm begging you to destroy the body of my children's father. Please, let's burn him until there is no more." And again, I was sobbing.
It just hurt so badly to think of them doing that to him. And, what doesn't make ANYTHING better is that when his mom died, M and I went to see her there, before her cremation. We didn't pay for the 1 hour family friendly viewing. We saw her, no lie, as M said "feet first, getting ready to be rolled in." There are 3 cremation stations in one large room, so they can actually cremate 3 people at one time, in individual machines. So, I can picture this now. I can picture his face as I last saw him, and I can picture him being rolled in, and the door closing and I cannot fucking DEAL with it. I just can't.
So, I came home and crawled in bed, and obsessed about it.
And a friend is making a slide show for his memorial. She emailed today asking for several of his favorite songs to add to the DVD. So I took a trip down THAT memory lane. Listening to our favorite music, reliving places and times when it had been so important to us.
Then, after I got kids home from school and was dealing with dinner his old bff S called. He called to tell me I'd done a good job with the obituary and had said some nice things. Um, no. Obituaries are not nice. They are tradition, for a crappy situation. You can't make an obit nice. You just can't. And he later when on to clarify that he was referring to the mention of his military history. Well, he served you idiot. Why would I NOT mention in. He kept going, and was really irritating me (and mind you, I like S alot--always have). Dan didn't deserve you. You were too good for him. You've been amazing through all this. No one else would have done what you did. And I was floored. It felt like he was spitting on his grave. It was wrong on so many levels. He said that he'd get a good showing at the memorial by his old friends, but it felt like he was saying that Dan didn't deserve it. He told me that he and his wife (a friend also) would be there on Thursday, but it was to support me, not Dan. I was stunned and speechless, honestly. It wasn't registering how someone could be saying these things to me, about him. My only real rebuttal was that I will defend to the day I die, that he never did anything with mean intention or maliciousness. He was at the mercy of a mental illness that he could not control.
And finally, the icing on the fucking cake...S asked me if daddy was going to be at the memorial on Thursday. She didn't mean a living daddy, she meant his body. I told her no and she asked why. And so began the conversation about cremation. I knew it was going to happen, so I was a bit prepared, but I don't think you can ever be fully prepared to discuss this with a 5 year old. i told her that some people want to be buried in the ground after they die, and some people want their bodies to be turned into ashes, and that was what daddy wanted. She asked what ashes were. I told her they were sort of like sand, or flour. I told her that they would put daddy's body in a special machine that gets very warm and after an hour or so, sort of like magic, his body would be transformed into ashes. No use of the words heat or burning, but it is REALLY hard to explain it without those words, especially after my mental state today! And then, I told her once that had happened, the people that worked at the funeral home would put the ashes that had been daddy into a box for us to bring home. She did NOT grasp this. I told her some people liked to keep the box forever and ever and other people actually wanted there ashes to be placed in places that were special to them. She said she didnt have any questions, so I assume that was good enough for a first pass.
It started well. I got kids to school on time and made it in time for a 9 am meeting. I felt very motivated and "on." After meeting, I had to call the crematory place. When I was there yesterday, I learned that 1) the dr hadn't signed the death cert, despite the fact that legally they need to do so in 72 hours. 2) Dan's brother hadn't signed the authorization to cremate form. I called to check on status of both, and learned they were still trying to get in touch with both Dr and M.
I got a call about 2 pm saying that the dr had signed, and had sent on to vital records, but that they'd left 3 message for M and he hadn't responded. I was livid. I mean, WHY? What's so hard? So I called him a left a message. It's almost impossible for me to say "cremate" out loud, in regards to Dan. I just can't do it. And I was trying not to be a bitch on the phone, but I just about lost it and got really emotional. The message told him that the dr had signed, and now it was up to him, and that they couldn't do what they needed to do until they heard from him.
And what it felt like I was saying is "I'm begging you to destroy the body of my children's father. Please, let's burn him until there is no more." And again, I was sobbing.
It just hurt so badly to think of them doing that to him. And, what doesn't make ANYTHING better is that when his mom died, M and I went to see her there, before her cremation. We didn't pay for the 1 hour family friendly viewing. We saw her, no lie, as M said "feet first, getting ready to be rolled in." There are 3 cremation stations in one large room, so they can actually cremate 3 people at one time, in individual machines. So, I can picture this now. I can picture his face as I last saw him, and I can picture him being rolled in, and the door closing and I cannot fucking DEAL with it. I just can't.
So, I came home and crawled in bed, and obsessed about it.
And a friend is making a slide show for his memorial. She emailed today asking for several of his favorite songs to add to the DVD. So I took a trip down THAT memory lane. Listening to our favorite music, reliving places and times when it had been so important to us.
Then, after I got kids home from school and was dealing with dinner his old bff S called. He called to tell me I'd done a good job with the obituary and had said some nice things. Um, no. Obituaries are not nice. They are tradition, for a crappy situation. You can't make an obit nice. You just can't. And he later when on to clarify that he was referring to the mention of his military history. Well, he served you idiot. Why would I NOT mention in. He kept going, and was really irritating me (and mind you, I like S alot--always have). Dan didn't deserve you. You were too good for him. You've been amazing through all this. No one else would have done what you did. And I was floored. It felt like he was spitting on his grave. It was wrong on so many levels. He said that he'd get a good showing at the memorial by his old friends, but it felt like he was saying that Dan didn't deserve it. He told me that he and his wife (a friend also) would be there on Thursday, but it was to support me, not Dan. I was stunned and speechless, honestly. It wasn't registering how someone could be saying these things to me, about him. My only real rebuttal was that I will defend to the day I die, that he never did anything with mean intention or maliciousness. He was at the mercy of a mental illness that he could not control.
And finally, the icing on the fucking cake...S asked me if daddy was going to be at the memorial on Thursday. She didn't mean a living daddy, she meant his body. I told her no and she asked why. And so began the conversation about cremation. I knew it was going to happen, so I was a bit prepared, but I don't think you can ever be fully prepared to discuss this with a 5 year old. i told her that some people want to be buried in the ground after they die, and some people want their bodies to be turned into ashes, and that was what daddy wanted. She asked what ashes were. I told her they were sort of like sand, or flour. I told her that they would put daddy's body in a special machine that gets very warm and after an hour or so, sort of like magic, his body would be transformed into ashes. No use of the words heat or burning, but it is REALLY hard to explain it without those words, especially after my mental state today! And then, I told her once that had happened, the people that worked at the funeral home would put the ashes that had been daddy into a box for us to bring home. She did NOT grasp this. I told her some people liked to keep the box forever and ever and other people actually wanted there ashes to be placed in places that were special to them. She said she didnt have any questions, so I assume that was good enough for a first pass.
We went to see him
These posts are going to be all out of order, but it makes sense in my head to get it out when I need.
Yesterday, Sunday, the I took the kids to see Dan for the last time. We overslept, well not really, but I had wanted to get up earlier than I did. We were rushing around with breakfast, getting dressed. I was about to lose it. Justin was there, and went with us. God love him, he seems perfect, except that he is often late. I am the person that has to be early. And, we only had an hour to spend with Dan. I didn't want that cut short because we were late. I'd given the kids warning...we're leaving in 45 minutes, 30 minutes...these warnings had been for him too. He freaking got in the shower at the time I had wanted to leave. I was a wreck and seriously wanted to tear into him, but that wouldn't have been helpful, so instead I cried. I cried all the way there. We were only 5 minutes late, and once we arrived I realized there was clearly no rush, and they let us stay as long as we wanted, which, with 3 young kids, was about 1.5 hours.
I thought long and hard about letting them see him. When I was little, I dealt with alot of death, alot of mourning, and it scared the shit out of me for the longest time. I didn't want to traumatize my kids in ANY way, but they are three very distinct people and are dealing with this in very different ways.
Side note: He will be cremated, so was not embalmed.
They wheeled his body (trying to use "body" and not his name or daddy to help us all detach, but it's hard) into a small visiting room. They had put a nice blanket over his body so that all we could see was his face. As I got closer to the room, kids and Justin behind me, I could see in, and saw the blanket first and then his face and I lost it. The person that worked there asked me if I wanted him to stay in the room with me and I told him no, but that I needed time by myself before my kids came in. So he left, shut the door, and I just nearly lost my mind. Of course, I had been with him when he died, and saw his body then, but there is NOTHING like the finality of death as seeing the persons body, with no evidence of life left. And this was my once best friend, the father of my kids, who I had sacrificed myself for, dead, in front of me, and all I could think of was how much I fucking missed him. God, that feeling was just horrible. Actually, there were no words for what I felt at that point.
Once I gathered myself, I looked more closely at him. They'd put some make up on him, which was fine with me. I actually was pleased with his appearance, especially for my kids sake. To me, there was no real evidence of the jaundice. He did truly look like he was sleeping. Curious as I am, I peeked under the blanket. He still had the hospital gown on. They had his arms crossed over his chest, the IV was still in his arm.
I rubbed his head, I kissed his forehead. He was so cold. It was the first dead body I'd ever touched.
I opened the door to give the kids the opportunity to come in. S came in first, and I picked her up so she could see him. She's experienced a death before, and really understands the concept in general, so honestly this was more for her than the twins. I'd told her previously that we could see daddy again, and three separate times she said she wanted to. She didn't cry...I didn't expect her to, she just looked and cuddled up with me.
C came in, relatively unphased, as I expected. This was actually really good for him I think. Before seeing Dan, he really had no idea what was going on. He certainly doesn't get death. I picked him up and walked up close and he was totally ok. We talked about the fact that even though daddy looks like he's sleeping, he'll never open his eyes again, and that he can't talk to us. Throughout the time there, he was really in and out of the room, with no obvious trauma of seeing his dad in that way. He did, and even though it's gut wrenching for me I know it's good for him, start saying "daddy will never, ever open his eyes, NEVER again."
A had the most issues, and is having the most issues in general. She had woken up angry that morning, which is completely out of character for her. You can count on her to always have a smile on her face. She also requires alot of "transition" time, when faced with a new experience. She and Justin are buds, so he sat down in the floor, right outside the room with Dan, with the door open. She'd walk up to the door, peek in, and then walk away. Gradually, she got to the point where she was sitting in his lap and had the ability to see Dan. Finally, she walked in the room with me. She never let me pick her up in there. She always stayed back, but that was ok. That's what she needed, and what her little brain would allow her to do.
Before we left home, I picked three flowers for them to give Dan. A also picked a dandelion for him:) They had all colored a picture as well. I held Connor while he told me where to place his flower, on Dan's chest. This was also where Sophie and Avery wanted their pictures. Connor's picture went next to his head, along with the dandelion, and on the other side were Avery and Sophie's flowers. I also had written him a short letter that morning and put it in envelope that I put on his chest as well. Below is Sophie's picture. I just love it, and it breaks my heart all at the same time.
We talked with the kids alot about the fact that he can't see us or talk to us, but that he can hear us. And that the funeral home was not the only place we can talk to him. If we're at home, and scared and want to talk to him, we can. If something fun happens and we want to tell daddy, we can! And although he can hear us, he just can't respond. We also talked about the fact that "he will ALWAYS be your daddy. NOTHING can change that." Before we left, both of the twins said "bye daddy. I love you."
We're not religious people. I'm not opposed to the concept of heaven, but when I've never talked to my kids about it before, their dads death did not seem like the best time to introduce. I'm very practical, and want to stick with things that they can grasp and that seem real to them. Can he hear us? I don't know. I'd like to think he can. And, I don't think there's any harm in letting them think that...after all...it might be true. And, when I think about others who I've been close to that have died, like my grandmothers, I'd like to think that they are watching over me, seeing who I am, what type of person I've become. I want my kids to think that way about their daddy.
At one point, I was sitting on the couch in the room with Dan. He was to my left, and Justin was sitting right outside the door on the floor, facing us, so he was to my right. How is this my life? Deceased ex-husband on one side and amazing boyfriend on the other.
It got to the point when the kids were getting antsy. Justin told me he'd take them to the car for me, so I could spend a few more minutes alone with Dan. S ended up staying with me, and he took the twins.
I just didn't want to leave him. I knew I had to. I KNEW it. I willed him to wake up. I can't stand the idea of what they are going to do to his body. But I know it's not different then burying someone. And I understand cremation, I get it, and am "for" it, but just not with him. I want to keep him forever. Not his body lol...I just want him to WAKE UP. FUCK this is so hard.
And then I wonder, if given the chance, if he could really be given a second chance, would he do anything differently? Would he turn his life around? That conversation happened several times in the hospital "if he gets out of this, if we can get him healthy again, will he turn his life around, or will he go back to the old routine?" We'll never know of course, but even though I knew him on so many levels, I didn't think he had the strength to even want to get better. I think it was always a battle that he was going to lose.
Yesterday, Sunday, the I took the kids to see Dan for the last time. We overslept, well not really, but I had wanted to get up earlier than I did. We were rushing around with breakfast, getting dressed. I was about to lose it. Justin was there, and went with us. God love him, he seems perfect, except that he is often late. I am the person that has to be early. And, we only had an hour to spend with Dan. I didn't want that cut short because we were late. I'd given the kids warning...we're leaving in 45 minutes, 30 minutes...these warnings had been for him too. He freaking got in the shower at the time I had wanted to leave. I was a wreck and seriously wanted to tear into him, but that wouldn't have been helpful, so instead I cried. I cried all the way there. We were only 5 minutes late, and once we arrived I realized there was clearly no rush, and they let us stay as long as we wanted, which, with 3 young kids, was about 1.5 hours.
I thought long and hard about letting them see him. When I was little, I dealt with alot of death, alot of mourning, and it scared the shit out of me for the longest time. I didn't want to traumatize my kids in ANY way, but they are three very distinct people and are dealing with this in very different ways.
Side note: He will be cremated, so was not embalmed.
They wheeled his body (trying to use "body" and not his name or daddy to help us all detach, but it's hard) into a small visiting room. They had put a nice blanket over his body so that all we could see was his face. As I got closer to the room, kids and Justin behind me, I could see in, and saw the blanket first and then his face and I lost it. The person that worked there asked me if I wanted him to stay in the room with me and I told him no, but that I needed time by myself before my kids came in. So he left, shut the door, and I just nearly lost my mind. Of course, I had been with him when he died, and saw his body then, but there is NOTHING like the finality of death as seeing the persons body, with no evidence of life left. And this was my once best friend, the father of my kids, who I had sacrificed myself for, dead, in front of me, and all I could think of was how much I fucking missed him. God, that feeling was just horrible. Actually, there were no words for what I felt at that point.
Once I gathered myself, I looked more closely at him. They'd put some make up on him, which was fine with me. I actually was pleased with his appearance, especially for my kids sake. To me, there was no real evidence of the jaundice. He did truly look like he was sleeping. Curious as I am, I peeked under the blanket. He still had the hospital gown on. They had his arms crossed over his chest, the IV was still in his arm.
I rubbed his head, I kissed his forehead. He was so cold. It was the first dead body I'd ever touched.
I opened the door to give the kids the opportunity to come in. S came in first, and I picked her up so she could see him. She's experienced a death before, and really understands the concept in general, so honestly this was more for her than the twins. I'd told her previously that we could see daddy again, and three separate times she said she wanted to. She didn't cry...I didn't expect her to, she just looked and cuddled up with me.
C came in, relatively unphased, as I expected. This was actually really good for him I think. Before seeing Dan, he really had no idea what was going on. He certainly doesn't get death. I picked him up and walked up close and he was totally ok. We talked about the fact that even though daddy looks like he's sleeping, he'll never open his eyes again, and that he can't talk to us. Throughout the time there, he was really in and out of the room, with no obvious trauma of seeing his dad in that way. He did, and even though it's gut wrenching for me I know it's good for him, start saying "daddy will never, ever open his eyes, NEVER again."
A had the most issues, and is having the most issues in general. She had woken up angry that morning, which is completely out of character for her. You can count on her to always have a smile on her face. She also requires alot of "transition" time, when faced with a new experience. She and Justin are buds, so he sat down in the floor, right outside the room with Dan, with the door open. She'd walk up to the door, peek in, and then walk away. Gradually, she got to the point where she was sitting in his lap and had the ability to see Dan. Finally, she walked in the room with me. She never let me pick her up in there. She always stayed back, but that was ok. That's what she needed, and what her little brain would allow her to do.
Before we left home, I picked three flowers for them to give Dan. A also picked a dandelion for him:) They had all colored a picture as well. I held Connor while he told me where to place his flower, on Dan's chest. This was also where Sophie and Avery wanted their pictures. Connor's picture went next to his head, along with the dandelion, and on the other side were Avery and Sophie's flowers. I also had written him a short letter that morning and put it in envelope that I put on his chest as well. Below is Sophie's picture. I just love it, and it breaks my heart all at the same time.
We talked with the kids alot about the fact that he can't see us or talk to us, but that he can hear us. And that the funeral home was not the only place we can talk to him. If we're at home, and scared and want to talk to him, we can. If something fun happens and we want to tell daddy, we can! And although he can hear us, he just can't respond. We also talked about the fact that "he will ALWAYS be your daddy. NOTHING can change that." Before we left, both of the twins said "bye daddy. I love you."
We're not religious people. I'm not opposed to the concept of heaven, but when I've never talked to my kids about it before, their dads death did not seem like the best time to introduce. I'm very practical, and want to stick with things that they can grasp and that seem real to them. Can he hear us? I don't know. I'd like to think he can. And, I don't think there's any harm in letting them think that...after all...it might be true. And, when I think about others who I've been close to that have died, like my grandmothers, I'd like to think that they are watching over me, seeing who I am, what type of person I've become. I want my kids to think that way about their daddy.
At one point, I was sitting on the couch in the room with Dan. He was to my left, and Justin was sitting right outside the door on the floor, facing us, so he was to my right. How is this my life? Deceased ex-husband on one side and amazing boyfriend on the other.
It got to the point when the kids were getting antsy. Justin told me he'd take them to the car for me, so I could spend a few more minutes alone with Dan. S ended up staying with me, and he took the twins.
I just didn't want to leave him. I knew I had to. I KNEW it. I willed him to wake up. I can't stand the idea of what they are going to do to his body. But I know it's not different then burying someone. And I understand cremation, I get it, and am "for" it, but just not with him. I want to keep him forever. Not his body lol...I just want him to WAKE UP. FUCK this is so hard.
And then I wonder, if given the chance, if he could really be given a second chance, would he do anything differently? Would he turn his life around? That conversation happened several times in the hospital "if he gets out of this, if we can get him healthy again, will he turn his life around, or will he go back to the old routine?" We'll never know of course, but even though I knew him on so many levels, I didn't think he had the strength to even want to get better. I think it was always a battle that he was going to lose.
Friday, April 24, 2015
April 11
I received a call from a dr on Saturday morning, about 10:30, stating that she was calling in regards to Dan, that he'd been in the hospital and at this point needed to be moved to the ICU. He had been diagnosed with liver failure and had spiked a fever that they couldn't get down.
He was at one of our local hospitals that he would NEVER have gone to on his own...which is why it hadn't occurred to me to call this particular one when I called the others. The dr told me the following story, the beginning having been told by Dan. Other parts the dr added; some parts I filled in missing pieces. At some points, the info is still missing. Now, it just doesn't matter.
He went down to his car on April 1 to check out his car battery (this is odd). He fell in the parking lot, and lay there for a few hours. He could not physically make it back into his building, so somehow managed to crawl in his car, where he spent the night. Passed out or sleeping, I'll never know. The next day, his neighbor found him and called 911, who took him to one hospital. I'm not certain he ever made it out of the ER there, and was instead transferred to the other hospital, that could provide a higher level of care. He was admitted on April 2, and NO ONE FREAKING CALLED ME UNTIL APRIL 11. But then, why would they. I assume he told them he didn't want anyone to know. It wasn't until he needed to be moved to the ICU (for the fever), that they started looking for someone, to validate what he initially told them his wishes were.
Upon admission, he had told them his story, and declared himself DNR, but the encephalopathy caused by the liver failure left him VERY confused and they didn't feel confident that he knew what he was saying/agreeing to.
So, after the dr told me where he was, why he was there, she asked me if I knew his wishes. I swear to you, I SWEAR, I wanted to lie. I wanted to lie so badly. I knew what he wanted...although over the next several days I realized how LITTLE I knew about what he wanted. I wanted to tell her I didn't know. I wanted to buy some time so I could decide if I should lie. But, I didn't. Through my sobbing, I told her that he was DNR, "but that he has three kids." And then I completely broke down, alone in my bedroom, dr still on the phone, while our kids were playing in the backyard, completely oblivious to what was going on. I could hear their sweet voices through the open window. Thank god for a fenced in yard, because for many minutes, I know I would not have been capable of helping them.
I have felt like I signed his death sentence many times before. But this time, this time I had told someone who would hold me to it, should it come to that. It was beyond unbelievable to me that I was in this situation.
The dr kept mentioning that she knew I was shocked. In truth, as I told her, the shocking part wasn't this situation, but that I had been so certain he'd left town. I'd expected a call from a jail in Florida, not from a dr 10 miles away. In my head, I'd been preparing myself for this call for years. Ironically enough, I'd recently told a few friends that he seemed to be in a good place. He came to visit twice after Christmas, and there was evidence of future planning in his head. He had talked about being worried about his money running out, and then he needed to get a job. I told my friends I'd spent the year prior worrying about his safety, and it was now, at a time like this, when he seemed to be ok, that he was going to surprise me with something bad. And he did.
The next few hours were a blur. I called Justin. I called a friend who was able to come babysit so I could get to the hospital. There was never a thought in my mind that I wouldn't go. Of course I would go. I told A and S that daddy was really really sick and I needed to go see him. I saw something in S's face, that told me that she knew this was serious. Such an insightful little girl.
He was yellow. So yellow. My first thought when I saw him was "he's so yellow he's almost orange" which at the time didn't make any sense to me. But that's how he looked. His temp was about 102.5. He had some IVs in. Clearly hot and clammy. Otherwise, he mostly looked like he was sleeping. He was conscious, but not alert. I grabbed his hand, told him I loved him and that I was there, but there was no response.
It was an awkward situation for me, as the ex-wife, to be there. At the time, I wasn't sure if I was his power of attorney. I had been at some point, but had assumed that dissolved with divorce. I learned later that it hadn't.
Later that afternoon his dr., who I grew to love over the next few days, came to tell me he was at risk for aspirating. For that reason alone, and NOT because his lungs were failing, he suggested intubation. At the time, I didn't realize what that was. I knew it was a tube, but I didn't realize it meant a "vent" would be used. To me, I simply didn't want him to choke to death and so gave my ok...which started the gray area over his DNR wishes.
His brother came in later that day as well. During his entire ICU stay the "focus" kept changing. The immediate concern had obviously been his liver failure, but most acutely worrisome was the fever they couldn't keep down. At some point, bowel perforation was a concern, and ultimately kidney failure. But on that day, it was the fever.
Dr P told me that he thought he could pull through. He saw no reason why they couldn't get him out of this. Instead of "liver failure" which of course it was, Dr P put a new name to it...acute alcoholic hepatitis.
He was at one of our local hospitals that he would NEVER have gone to on his own...which is why it hadn't occurred to me to call this particular one when I called the others. The dr told me the following story, the beginning having been told by Dan. Other parts the dr added; some parts I filled in missing pieces. At some points, the info is still missing. Now, it just doesn't matter.
He went down to his car on April 1 to check out his car battery (this is odd). He fell in the parking lot, and lay there for a few hours. He could not physically make it back into his building, so somehow managed to crawl in his car, where he spent the night. Passed out or sleeping, I'll never know. The next day, his neighbor found him and called 911, who took him to one hospital. I'm not certain he ever made it out of the ER there, and was instead transferred to the other hospital, that could provide a higher level of care. He was admitted on April 2, and NO ONE FREAKING CALLED ME UNTIL APRIL 11. But then, why would they. I assume he told them he didn't want anyone to know. It wasn't until he needed to be moved to the ICU (for the fever), that they started looking for someone, to validate what he initially told them his wishes were.
Upon admission, he had told them his story, and declared himself DNR, but the encephalopathy caused by the liver failure left him VERY confused and they didn't feel confident that he knew what he was saying/agreeing to.
So, after the dr told me where he was, why he was there, she asked me if I knew his wishes. I swear to you, I SWEAR, I wanted to lie. I wanted to lie so badly. I knew what he wanted...although over the next several days I realized how LITTLE I knew about what he wanted. I wanted to tell her I didn't know. I wanted to buy some time so I could decide if I should lie. But, I didn't. Through my sobbing, I told her that he was DNR, "but that he has three kids." And then I completely broke down, alone in my bedroom, dr still on the phone, while our kids were playing in the backyard, completely oblivious to what was going on. I could hear their sweet voices through the open window. Thank god for a fenced in yard, because for many minutes, I know I would not have been capable of helping them.
I have felt like I signed his death sentence many times before. But this time, this time I had told someone who would hold me to it, should it come to that. It was beyond unbelievable to me that I was in this situation.
The dr kept mentioning that she knew I was shocked. In truth, as I told her, the shocking part wasn't this situation, but that I had been so certain he'd left town. I'd expected a call from a jail in Florida, not from a dr 10 miles away. In my head, I'd been preparing myself for this call for years. Ironically enough, I'd recently told a few friends that he seemed to be in a good place. He came to visit twice after Christmas, and there was evidence of future planning in his head. He had talked about being worried about his money running out, and then he needed to get a job. I told my friends I'd spent the year prior worrying about his safety, and it was now, at a time like this, when he seemed to be ok, that he was going to surprise me with something bad. And he did.
The next few hours were a blur. I called Justin. I called a friend who was able to come babysit so I could get to the hospital. There was never a thought in my mind that I wouldn't go. Of course I would go. I told A and S that daddy was really really sick and I needed to go see him. I saw something in S's face, that told me that she knew this was serious. Such an insightful little girl.
He was yellow. So yellow. My first thought when I saw him was "he's so yellow he's almost orange" which at the time didn't make any sense to me. But that's how he looked. His temp was about 102.5. He had some IVs in. Clearly hot and clammy. Otherwise, he mostly looked like he was sleeping. He was conscious, but not alert. I grabbed his hand, told him I loved him and that I was there, but there was no response.
It was an awkward situation for me, as the ex-wife, to be there. At the time, I wasn't sure if I was his power of attorney. I had been at some point, but had assumed that dissolved with divorce. I learned later that it hadn't.
Later that afternoon his dr., who I grew to love over the next few days, came to tell me he was at risk for aspirating. For that reason alone, and NOT because his lungs were failing, he suggested intubation. At the time, I didn't realize what that was. I knew it was a tube, but I didn't realize it meant a "vent" would be used. To me, I simply didn't want him to choke to death and so gave my ok...which started the gray area over his DNR wishes.
His brother came in later that day as well. During his entire ICU stay the "focus" kept changing. The immediate concern had obviously been his liver failure, but most acutely worrisome was the fever they couldn't keep down. At some point, bowel perforation was a concern, and ultimately kidney failure. But on that day, it was the fever.
Dr P told me that he thought he could pull through. He saw no reason why they couldn't get him out of this. Instead of "liver failure" which of course it was, Dr P put a new name to it...acute alcoholic hepatitis.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
He's dead
There's no way to sugarcoat the last 10 days. It's simply not possible. I'm hoping to get it all down here, over the next few days. For memories sake, to just get it out. I don't know.
He hadn't been to my house since Feb 21. On March 24, in response to persistent texting on my part, just checking on him, he responded with the text "The condo is fine. The bills are paid. I'm bed-ridden." What the what? Then started several days of constant texting/calling from me, checking on him, making sure he was ok. No response. It was Dan. It wasn't shocking to get no response, and I eventually got pissed off, chalking it up to his passive-aggressiveness. Creating drama, and letting others deal with the consequences. So I toned down the texting, but was obviously still concerned or I would have stopped altogether.
On April 6, I sent him a text and noticed that it didn't get delivered to his phone, so I called him. His phone was off/dead. This was NOT the norm for him. He may not respond, he may not call back...but he always kept his phone charged. I drove by his condo on April 7, in the morning. I noticed that his bedroom light was on, which was also odd for him to have a light on during the day. I drove back by after work, and the same light was still on. I called his friend who's a cop and asked if we could do a wellness check on him. We'd planned it for the next afternoon. I drove by again that next morning and saw the same light STILL on, and just got a really bad feeling. Cop friend and I texted and he was able to meet me there about 45 minutes later.
When we got to his door we knocked, and no answer. We opened the door and David yelled his name several times, no response. Each time he yelled his name, and each time he didn't respond, my stomach dropped deeper and deeper. He was finally dead. Gross I know, but at the same time as this thought, I kept thinking, it would have been a while. If he was dead, we'd smell something. We finally walked in, and discovered he was not there. His car was there, but his keys, phone, wallet were missing. I was floored and stunned, but also had expected there might come a time when he left town, so it wasn't a huge shock. I went back over on Thurs and Fri after work, searching for something that might tell me where he was. There were no e-mail confirmations of hotel/flights. I found his charger. I found two medicine bottles, one was his depression meds. By the count, I assumed he'd stopped taking them about 6 weeks prior. There were no meds for his mania. For this reason I alone, it made the most sense to me that he'd left town.
David checked the jails in the city and surrounding areas. He called the city morgue. I called the two hospitals that he'd most likely go to, if he'd gotten sick or someone found him and called 911. He was no where. At the suggestion of a few friends, I had decided on that Monday afternoon that I would file a missing persons report. I felt strongly that he was at risk of hurting himself (and possibly others--unintentionally), and wanted him back home and stabilized on meds.
He hadn't been to my house since Feb 21. On March 24, in response to persistent texting on my part, just checking on him, he responded with the text "The condo is fine. The bills are paid. I'm bed-ridden." What the what? Then started several days of constant texting/calling from me, checking on him, making sure he was ok. No response. It was Dan. It wasn't shocking to get no response, and I eventually got pissed off, chalking it up to his passive-aggressiveness. Creating drama, and letting others deal with the consequences. So I toned down the texting, but was obviously still concerned or I would have stopped altogether.
On April 6, I sent him a text and noticed that it didn't get delivered to his phone, so I called him. His phone was off/dead. This was NOT the norm for him. He may not respond, he may not call back...but he always kept his phone charged. I drove by his condo on April 7, in the morning. I noticed that his bedroom light was on, which was also odd for him to have a light on during the day. I drove back by after work, and the same light was still on. I called his friend who's a cop and asked if we could do a wellness check on him. We'd planned it for the next afternoon. I drove by again that next morning and saw the same light STILL on, and just got a really bad feeling. Cop friend and I texted and he was able to meet me there about 45 minutes later.
When we got to his door we knocked, and no answer. We opened the door and David yelled his name several times, no response. Each time he yelled his name, and each time he didn't respond, my stomach dropped deeper and deeper. He was finally dead. Gross I know, but at the same time as this thought, I kept thinking, it would have been a while. If he was dead, we'd smell something. We finally walked in, and discovered he was not there. His car was there, but his keys, phone, wallet were missing. I was floored and stunned, but also had expected there might come a time when he left town, so it wasn't a huge shock. I went back over on Thurs and Fri after work, searching for something that might tell me where he was. There were no e-mail confirmations of hotel/flights. I found his charger. I found two medicine bottles, one was his depression meds. By the count, I assumed he'd stopped taking them about 6 weeks prior. There were no meds for his mania. For this reason I alone, it made the most sense to me that he'd left town.
David checked the jails in the city and surrounding areas. He called the city morgue. I called the two hospitals that he'd most likely go to, if he'd gotten sick or someone found him and called 911. He was no where. At the suggestion of a few friends, I had decided on that Monday afternoon that I would file a missing persons report. I felt strongly that he was at risk of hurting himself (and possibly others--unintentionally), and wanted him back home and stabilized on meds.
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