10 Days Without Daddy

Day 1

Daddy,
it's been one day since you died,
and I miss you now more than ever. 
You used to live six minutes from me on a backroad drive through the countryside
and now you are nowhere to be found,
a futile manhunt that will never end until we reunite again one day.

I watched your last two breaths, daddy. 
Pain free.
No cords.
No cancer. 
No alzheimers. 
No dementia. 
Just a failing body that had journeyed on wondrous adventures.

Mom was in the room with me when you passed, daddy.
She was the apple of your eye, huh?
And then, the most unusual moment in time,
as if you knew something was about to happen,
something from the other realm,
and all it took was two breaths - 
one big,
the next one a little shallower,
then, nothing. 
Me and mom looked at one another. 
The rest of the family was at The Log Cabin waiting for your hospice transport. 
They had everything set up so nice for you, daddy.
You would have been proud of them
but you didn't make it 
and that's okay, daddy. 
We know you were tired and a little banged up. 

I held your forehead after you passed, daddy,
and you were warm to begin with
and Mom had left because they were coming for your body 
and I wanted one last moment with the man, the myth, the legend.

My father. 

I shook you a little just to see if you would wake up.
I spoke out loud to an empty room, 
'daddy... daddy... daddy... wake up..."
I curse myself in the moment for not taking more time with you.
I told you 'I love you' more by that bedside than I had told you to your face over the past month.
I feel shameful. 
I feel sad.
I feel lost.
I shake you and say, 
'daddy, daddy, daddy... dad..',
and shake you some more
but you do not reply
and I force myself to understand all of this even though I do not want to.

I have dreaded this day for quite some time
and now it is here
and has past
and there are so many things I'd change if I could
but it doesn't matter now because you are gone.

The greatest man I ever knew. 
The strongest man I ever knew.
My dad.
My hero.

And somehow it still happened to him,
and I'll never be the same.

---

Day 2

Daddy,
if I had to write down the three hardest moments that I have ever experienced in my entire life -
this would be one of them,
and that's okay because I do not suffer alone
and I shoulder my fresh wound along with those who wear this same exact one 
and theirs has already healed, somewhat.

Some of your friends came by The Log Cabin last night.
Some brought food.
Some brought money.
Some brought hugs.
Some brought love. 
Some brought memories, 
and nobody could think of one negative thing to say
and I told them that you never had a negative thing to say about them
and I thought how big of a blessing it was for a human to be able to live like that
and then I remember your old legends that these visitors had stirred up
and then I remember the man who was my father
and how he tried to overcome whatever life threw his way
and succeeded
and never boasted life's blessings
and was the greatest man that I'll ever know or could compare myself to
and am glad that he was bestowed as my father on this earth
and how I was given to him as a son,
a bond that no man, woman, court, or piece of paper could ever change,
permanently stamped by God,
forever sealed by time,
and then my brain flickers
and I remember the sound of your last two breaths.
I remember watching them,
time slowing exponentially for the next five seconds then resuming
and I shook you because it didn't seem right with you not moving
and I told you, 'I love you', 
and for the first time in my life I did not hear you say it back
and no matter how many times I prepared myself for this day,
nothing,
I type NOTHING,
can prepare anyone for the pain of losing a man like him,
the forgotten salt of the earth.

Two breaths.
One long.
The other short.
Then, nothing. 
and now, some things seem dull in comparison to the grand scheme
and all I wanted was one more holiday season with you, daddy,
but, it's okay.

Maybe another lifetime...
...
or timeline.

---

Day 3

Daddy, 
I really do not know how to feel today. 
Time is behaving quite strangely. 

I'm tired, yes. 
I have a small amount of unsettled anger. 
I am very, very sad, if we're to be honest.
I'm not really at peace but pretending to be.

You would have wanted me to be strong during all of this. 
You'd leave to go on all your scuba diving adventures and would tell me before you left,
'you're the man of the house while I'm away... 
you watch after things until I get back, son',
and I tried to protect our tiny piece of land like the most grand knight that had ever lived. 

I helped mom clean the house for your celebration of life service tomorrow. 
Your neighbors brought lunch for us to eat
and a couple of ladies from the church brought homemade desserts - 
good country people you've known for what seems like two lifetimes
and would like to have known for even longer if you could.

All of these people - the real salt of the earth. 

And I've found myself the past couple of days,
sitting in your chair at home,
turning the television to a western channel,
trying to bring you back to life in the little things that I remember you doing
but do not treasure until this very moment since you are gone
and that strikes me as odd
and it strikes me as funny
but not in the funny funny kind of way.

Daddy,
I want to be that ten year old boy nagging you to death over nothing
or for me to  simply hear your voice
or just know that you're there.

Then my mind goes back to me sitting next to your hospital bed
and me and mom hearing your last two natural breaths,
you doing the best you could to keep your body going,
the hospital room's TV turned to a classic western movie. 

I shake my head left to right and wipe a stray tear
and my mind instantly takes me back to me shaking you while you laid in the hospital bed,
your soul already being far removed.
I remember telling you 'I love you' and wanting to hear you say it back.
I remember opening your eyes to see if they were still as blue as a newborn sky. 
I put my hand on your forehead.
You're still warm. 
Then, slowly, you are not.  

And all I wanted was one more holiday season with you, dad. 
That's all. 
And in two breaths that was taken from me. 
Two short breaths. 
And I guess it's okay.

It had to happen to somebody, right?

Yesterday, on the back patio of the Log Cabin, while me and your grandson watched a tractor plow a field and the sun was setting in the distant horizon and a cool northern wind had started to stir and pick up the leaves and blow past mom's many flags, wind chimes, and two butterfly bushes, I could sense your presence and knew you were with us in that moment. 

And then I go back to the hospital bed
and shaking you 
and you no longer responding
and it's okay, daddy, 
I promise,
because tomorrow is your floating memorial service at the Log Cabin. 

A humble day fit for legends, kings, superheroes, and greek gods.

---

Day 4

Daddy,
I woke up before my alarm this Sunday morning.
I haven't been able to sleep the past couple of nights. 
I sipped my cup of coffee on the back patio this morning. 
I wanted to push spread some Weed and Feed in the back yard.
I did exactly that
and thought about you
and everything was different about this certain morning.

And I can still remember your last two breaths.
One long.
The other short,
and I shook you 
and whispered,
"daddy, are you there?.."
and I told you that I loved you a thousand times
and I wanted to hear you say it back
but you didn't,
and today is your memorial service, daddy,
so I went and checked on momma first thing.
I dropped off ice. 
I still looked for you to be in your chair
or lingering around on the front porch, 
smoking a cigarette,
but you were not,
so I closed by eyes, took a deep breath, and distracted myself somehow. 

The family was sad today 
and lost
and happy to reunite with familiar faces and old friends
and share a genuine love that your life created over time
and this happened on a cloudless day,
a perfect day,
a day that I wished you could have experienced with us,
or maybe you did in your own way,
and, 
daddy, 
you'd never guess it
but your beloved scuba buddy drove your old motorcycle to the house,
the bike that you drove from East coast to West coast then back to East coast,
and so many other legends that were shared on the family farmland,
and everyone loved you so much
and you loved all of them so much
and I'm glad everyone came
and I'm glad everyone knew you
and I'm glad you knew them.

Daddy, 
I am still sad 
and it's okay
because nobody is guaranteed tomorrow or to live forever,
no matter how bad I wanted that last holiday season with you.

It feels like you've been gone an eternity 
and it has only been a couple of days
and I'd do anything to have you back. 

Tomorrow is a Monday. 
Tomorrow is another day without you 
and today was a good day, considering, 
and we all needed that.

But, I'm still sad 
and I hope that is okay. 

---

Day 5

Daddy,
it's Monday
and I chose not to go to work today because I needed a day.

I slept in a little.
Sleep is not the same right now. 
Neither is being awake. 
Dreaming, well, that's a story all to itself.

And I want to be sad 
and I know that's okay because we do not suffer alone
and somehow that ties some of us together for now,
the people who are left behind,
and it's a feeling that wasn't there before
but you're able to share that now with others who have experienced the same as you.

And your passing was so quick 
and nobody was expecting it
and we were waiting to get you home so you could pass away there
and so many people were going to pop in for a quick visit
and, somewhere in my mind, I was hoping for one more holiday season with you
and, well, I just knew this couldn't be the end. 

But it was... 
and that's okay, daddy, because it's going to happen to all of us one day
and on that day and at that hour it was just meant for you
and I'm okay to have a little unsettled anger inside my bones,
even though others have told me that having to witness a quicker and painless death is better than drawn out suffering.

And then I realize we all suffer in our own way.

And all I know is that I love you, daddy,
and I'm probably going to have to go in to work tomorrow
and you are going to be everywhere in the lab with me because you taught me the skillset I have
and I know you were proud of that fact
and now it makes me even more proud of that fact even though I never always acted liked doing what I do 
and I should have,
just another error on my behalf.

Today is hard.
Tomorrow is going to be harder
and the day after that, probably even harder 
and all I want is one past yesterday when you were here just so I could look at you
but I remind myself that others are suffering the exact same way I am
and now we're all connected
and wondering
and questioning
and trying to figure out an answer that isn't there because we should already know it by now. 

And it's okay, I think. 

It should be okay.

---

Day 6

Daddy, 
this time last week you entered the hospital for the second time in a month
and now, daddy, you're gone
and today I have to go to work and use the skill set that you taught me
and, daddy, I'm just a little tired
and I know it'll be fine, one day, maybe. 

Strange as strange would have it, daddy,
when I went to work today,
my company sent a fellow technician from our team that I have not met until this very day. 
He mentioned crown and bridging in the same building you put your first lab.
He mentioned how he even worked with our competition back in the good ole days, daddy,
and now look at the story where all of that has led to today.

It was comforting in its own way, 
daddy, 
because he understood how this loss affected me
and I haven't tried to think about those last two breaths, 
daddy,
but it still falls on my ears from time to time. 
 
Two weeks ago, I still had you, daddy. 
One week ago, you went into the hospital for the last time, 
but were still able to tell me goodbye.
Now, daddy, I'm looking for you in places where I know I'll never find you
and all I wanted was one more holiday season with you, daddy, 
and to see you in your Santa Claus pajama pants
and to come visit you and wake you out of a nap
or walk inside the Log Cabin and see which western you were watching. 

Even though I know you will never be there,
ever,
I still think when I walk around the kitchen wall that you are going to be in your recliner,
with your toboggan on,
sleeping,
eating,
watching television,
or snoring -
simply doing the things that used to be everyone's normal. 

But, then,
I remember that night when it happened
and I was there..

'Daddy, are you awake?'
'Daddy, can you hear me?'
'Daddy, I love you!'

---

Day 7

Daddy, 
a week ago from this very day, you died
and today at work, I thought about something.
You never really did get a proper last meal
and that bothers me because you loved good food. 

The last meal you ate, mom fed it to you.
I wiped your mouth.
You chewed the cheap meat.
You cheeked the peaches and actually motioned for more.
The bread was too dry for you to try to chew, breathe, and swallow at the same time.
You drank unsweet tea through a straw.
We tried to get you comfortable in the bed.
I told you goodnight and that I'd see you tomorrow.
You mumbled 'okay' and 'bye'.
Then we both said 'I love you'.
And then I went home. 
And then I went to bed.
And then I went to work.
And then I get a text that you aren't doing good. 
I leave work. 
I ride the entire way in silence. 
I get to the hospital. 
I see my entire family. 
Seven hours later, you take your last two breaths
and I heard those two breaths more than once today, daddy.
I'm not going to lie. 
And I thought I heard you call my name one time in the lab today
and I chewed my peanut butter sandwich 
and stared at the wall
and listened to my Chillwave radio 
and enjoyed having the entire lab to myself
and have the type of caseload that every technician dreams of
and everything about the moment feels perfect even though it isn't
and the only thing that would make this moment even better would be to have you there with me.

I miss you, daddy,
and it still bothers me to know that two weeks ago I could reach out and touch you with my pointer finger,
and, now, you are just, 
*poof*, 
gone into nothingness,
nowhere to be found until the sweet by and by, 
but I was still hoping for at least one last holiday season with you 
and the family
and to see you sitting in your chair
and for the family to go over and put up the Christmas tree and watch you carve the Thanksgiving turkey and sneak in bites while doing so
and just being able to look across the room and see you there with us, daddy, 
no long distance,
just, there,
and to have that love so close. 

And I share my story about you, daddy,
and I ask people on my journey if their parents have passed
and then I immediately ask them the year
and then I ask them does the feeling ever get less heavy
and then they tell me with tear stained eyes that it hurts every day
and then I begin to miss you even more.

'Son, do you want to go ride the golf cart around the field?'
'Ahh, I can't today, daddy, I'm busy. Maybe next time. I promise.'

'I promise.' 

'I promise...' 

Daddy, 
I take back so many things
and I hope you were proud of your family
and who they turned out to be because of what you tried to teach us.

Daddy, 
thank you for making the friends you did,
because the love they have shown would make any superhero tear up.

Daddy, 
I love and miss you
and then, it hits my ear.
A tear builds in the corner of my eye.
So many memories flash through my head,
memories of old, in-between, and new,
and I cannot help but to smile no matter how much I want to cry.

Then, the silence. 

Then, I hear it.

Two breaths. 
One long.
The other short.
Then, a special kind of silence.

'Daddy, wake up.'
'Daddy, I love you.'

---

Day 9

Daddy, 
tonight,
the moon was so big,
and bright,
and was a perfect circle,
and hung in the sky like a foreign world just waiting to be discovered,
and my son pointed up and said,
'circle',
and I looked up for the first time in quite a while
and the moon made me feel something
and I felt like I could see into forever
and I could have sworn I felt you
and the moment was complete
and I wanted to share it with whoever was struggling like me
but I couldn't until now. 

The moment in the moment was mine and mine alone 
and that's okay. 

The wind felt really good this evening too.
I just thought I would let you know.

A good wind can drown out a lot of things.
That's most certain.
And so can the cold.
And it's on the way, daddy.

It's on the way.

---

Day 10

My little tribe spent a couple of hours on the farm today. 
It was almost perfect, daddy. 
Well, to be honest, it was perfect,
other than you not being alive and around the corner. 

The sky was as blue as a glacier fed lake. 
The breeze cooled you off just enough but did not make you feel cold. 
We rode the golf cart around on the farm. 
We saw a couple of tractors working. 
We saw some cows and donkeys. 

Daddy,
it was the most lighthearted moment I have had since your passing 
and you would have loved to have been there, 
in that moment, 
but something tells me you were even though I was not aware,
yet, maybe I was and did not want to recognize it. 

As each day passes, It's getting harder to remember your last two breaths the way I first heard them
and that's okay because I figured this is how it would have played out
and, to be honest, I still think you deserved a better last meal than what me and mom had to feed you that night. 

All those past weekend meals over the past couple of months that you requested from me and the misses is starting to make sense, when looking back now at how things played out :
Mr. Crab Legs,
Mr. Boston Butt,
Mr. Brisket,
Mr. Chicken wings,
Mr. Roast and Potatoes,
Mr. Double Decker Cheeseburgers,
Mr. Ribeye,
and with each meal, all the fixings and leftovers to take home.

You were something else, daddy.
That's for sure.
And now I have so many things I want to say but can't. 
But maybe one day...

...

Right, daddy?