Lost my Dad in a traumatic way.

[SamanthaG]

My Dad passed away on January 3^rd, 2014. He was diagnosed with heart failure in 2012. Fast forward to his Birthday last August…his cardiologist told him that he only had an estimated three months to live. He was a candidate for this device called the LVAD (left ventricular assist device). He essentially had to carry around a camera case looking holder with batteries inside (it weighed about 5 lbs.) that was connected to a tube inserted into the side of his stomach. My dad’s condition contributed to his depression spiraling out of control as the months passed. I was his primary care-taker (I had to withdraw from my college classes). He would say things such as “just fucking kill me” and “this is no way to live.” He was an empty shell of the man that he once was. I could not fully comprehend how debilitating his condition truly was. Imagine…food tasting like cardboard, not being able to take a full on shower, not knowing if today was the day you die, or unable to do hobbies you love.

My dad got in a fight with my mom the night before he passed away. She told me what they fought about right after it happened…but…I did not have the energy to get involved. I was so used to my dad saying he wanted to die at that point. I woke up at about 11 a.m. the next morning. I generally woke up at 8 a.m. because I would cook him breakfast. I went downstairs to his “man-cave” to bring him some apple juice. I opened the door to find him lying on the floor……there was blood rushing out of his head, his eyes were wide opened, he was gasping for air, and feces covered his jeans/the floor. I thought that he hit his head on the table and I just took too long to find him. He was on Coumadin (blood thinners) and people should not fall while on it. My mind was racing…did I just let my dad lay in a pool of blood for who knows how long? The one time that I woke up late...and this happened. 

The ER doctor had a somber look on his face. He told us that my dad was brain dead and had a brain hemorrhage. They could not try the aggressive route because he was on blood thinners. My mom & I (I’m the only child) were forced to make the decision to keep or pull him off life support. We had limited time to make a decision *45 minutes to be exact*. We felt like murderers at that point in time. My dad would NOT have wanted to be a vegetable the rest of his life. He deserved to leave this earth with his dignity intact. Despite his sickness…I never prepared myself for him to die in such a traumatic manner. Maybe I was being naive at 23 years old. Maybe I did not want to accept that people I love could die at any given moment. I was filled with regrets after he passed away. I hated that I would get annoyed or talk back to him when he was sick. I did not want to baby him. I wanted him to eat healthy. I wanted him to do small things without depending on me. I wanted him to feel like he was capable of doing things he once did. I wish that I spent more time with him when I was a teenager. I’m only human. I know that it is irrational to blame myself for his death. I cannot help but feel guilty for things that I cannot go back in time and re-do. The bottom line is…I love my Dad. He knew that. My dad definitely had baggage, he was negative, depressed, and stubborn. Despite all of that, he was loving, unselfish, goofy, and had a heart of gold. His death solidified that I cannot let life pass me by. I hope that one day I can breathe again because this pain is unreal. Does anyone else have a somewhat similar experience to mine? 

[rini044]

Hi Samantha,

 

I am sorry for your loss. I am also an only child, which doesn't make this easier. I wish I had a sibling sooo much to relate to about all of this. 

 

I had a similar experience on July 30th, 2006. I was 14 years old and getting ready to go to summer camp as my Dad was showering. I was painting my toe nails when I heard a giant thud from the bathroom downstairs. 

 

I went downstairs to the bathroom and remember calling "Dad? Dad? Are you alright?" with no response. I opened the door to find the shower running. With much hesitation (it is freaking weird to intrude on your naked parent...even if you know something is wrong) I opened the shower door to find him having a seizure. His eyes were rolling into the back of his head and his tongue was flopped outside of his mouth and he was twitching. Within seconds it was clear to me my Dad was no longer there, this was only his body.

 

My Dad had struggled with his weight and smoking cigarettes for my whole life. When I was in 2nd grade he had a quintuple bypass surgery and several years later my mom told me the doctors said he had a maximum of 10 years to live IF he quit smoking and lost weight. My Dad was very depressed and moody. I used to fear him coming home. I would know what the house atmosphere would be like just from the pattern of his footsteps and how much noise he made by putting his stuff down when he came home from work. If he was in a bad mood, my mom and I would get yelled at for the tiniest things like if we spilled a glass of water. Most of the time, he would just come home and watch TV and eat and snooze for hours and hours and hours. My parents never slept in the same bed, my mom always said it was because my "Dad snored too loud"...which is valid but probably not the whole picture. A year ago my mom told me she used to think about divorcing him but then he would threaten to talk her to court and take me from her. 

 

But sometimes, my Dad was so incredible. He could be the funniest, most loving, smartest, understanding, outgoing, protective, creative, witty person. We would often have "reads" where we would read books to each other outloud such as LOTR and Harry Potter. He was a fantastic chef as well. I also, though I couldn't articulate it then, relate to him in way I don't think I can ever relate to anyone else. It is like I inherited his soul instead of my mom's...I just always related to him on more of a visceral level (though I love my Mom just as much...she is just more of a logical, less creative, less outgoing, happier, quieter, kinder person!). Even at a young ago I always felt my Dad just "got me". I too struggle with lots and lots of depression, am very outgoing, funny, creative, etc...I was often "Daddy's girl" even though I think my Mom took better care of me. i feel guilty about that a lot. It was just that feeling when you look into someone's eyes and you know you're not the only one who thinks that way...I don't feel that way when I look into my Mom's eyes. I miss it deeply...I am actually crying now for the first time since writing this post haha. I know I will never have that again though I want it desperately with my Mom (and we have an excellent relationship and are very close), it will just never happen with us. 

 

So anyway...here I was with my naked father having a brain aneurism/heart attack/seizure  in the shower. I called 911 and the lady told me to "move him" to a position where his airways could be opened for CPR. Well, I couldn't move him because he was 275 pounds. It was also weird as **** to touch my cold, naked Dad in that instance. Eventually the ambulance came, it took 4 people to get him out of the shower, and he went into a brain dead coma for 3 days and we decided to pull the plug. I still absolutely think it was the right thing to do....there was no way he could have recovered from that. During this same 2 year period I also lost my 2 grandparents (who I had grown up with 10 minutes away), my cat, guinea pig, and first boyfriend that I dated for 2 years. I was a very emotional, sad, angry teenager hahaha but the loss of my Dad was so big it was like I my brain didn't even have room to grieve these other losses. 

 

So here I am 8 years later and I still struggle with depression, anxiety, disordered eating, substance abuse, PTSD, and migraines. I could go on for days about this stuff too lol. I feel guilty all the time...about everything from what I ate for dinner...to the type-o I sent to my boss. For a long time I blamed myself for my Dad's death. I thought I should have convinced him more to quit smoking and loose weight, or he didn't love me enough to change, or I should have taken CPR classes, or been strong enough to move him that day. Thankfully, after lots of therapy, I am getting better about my guilt. 

 

I wish I had some advice to offer you Samantha...but unfortunately having been through it I still am not sure what to say.Given the choice, I don't think I would take back my experience because it has made me stronger and (like you said) appreciate how mortal we all are and life itself. My father's death, and other losses, makes me extremely empathetic, compassionate, and alive. It also has given me a big kick in the butt to strive for a healthy lifestyle...cuz I know what can happen if you don't. It has helped me artistically (I do lots of art stuff like theatre, painting, etc.)...I mean hell haven't all great artistic witnessed tragedy? I think trying to learn from it as much as you can, therapy (for me anyway), being patient and validating your feelings, and surrounding yourself with the most supportive people possible are the best things you can do.

 

I am sending you loving and compassionate vibes!!! Hope this post helps. 

[undercoverninja]

I lost my dad a month ago today. Since then, I've regularly visited these and other online forums about loss and grieving. I suppose reading the experiences of others who have gone through more-or-less similar situations helps us to feel not so lost and alone. Up until now, I have refrained from posting my own story; however, upon reading your post I figure maybe now it’s time—other people’s stories have helped me tremendously over the course of the past month… maybe now I can return those favors, so to speak, and hopefully the words that fill my little musing will help you or someone else the way others have helped me.

 

Neither of my parents was in the greatest of health. My dad was diabetic, but did a good job of monitoring his blood sugar level so mostly it wasn't much of an issue. He had quintuple bypass surgery a few years back, which slowed him down a bit as you might imagine. During the holiday season of 2012, he had a stroke which put him in the hospital for a couple of weeks and then a few months of physical therapy. Then this past holiday season (two days before Thanksgiving, 2013), he was out with my mom when he collapsed. After nearly a month in the hospital, including two weeks in intensive care hooked to a ventilator, he was allowed to return home. The diagnosis was congestive heart failure. 

 

Well, this last time in the hospital really took a lot out of my dad. Until then, he was able to get around reasonably well, but upon returning home, he was forced to use a walker to get around. Taking showers was difficult, too, as he would often get dizzy. Anyway, as all this was happening, it was getting to the point that my mom couldn’t take care of him by herself. As such, not long after he had the stroke, I agreed to move back home to help out. They both did so much for me when I was a kid, I couldn't say no. 

 

Moving back home, my biggest fear was always that something would happen to my dad and I would be the one to find him. There’s a lot of back-story as to why that was my biggest fear, but suffice to say that a number of years earlier I witnessed my best friend pass away despite all my efforts to save him. Needless to say, that experience affected me in the worst way.

 

On July 31, 2014, I lived that nightmare. My mom has a part time job as a bank courier and my dad would usually ride with her—he thought if that car was moving then his butt needed to be in the passenger seat because he didn’t like my mom driving alone. Today he stayed home though because he told my mom that he felt dizzy. I had been at work that morning, but I returned home around 11 a.m. to find my aunt at the house. She pulled me aside and asked me to keep an eye on my dad because he wasn’t feeling well and she had to run out for about an hour. My dad was sitting in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal. After my aunt left, I asked him how he was feeling and he told me that he felt better but he wanted to lie down for a nap. He walked down the hall and into his bedroom to lie down, so I grabbed my laptop and sat in the front room because I had more work to do, but I wanted to be some place where I could hear him in case he needed something.

 

After about an hour my aunt returned to keep an eye on my dad. She asked if anything happened and I told her no, and that he had gone to take a nap. Since she was there now to listen for him, I returned to my room and shut the door so that I could finish my work. As I walked down the hallway, I stuck my head in his room to check on him. He was sound asleep. 

 

About 10 minutes passed when I heard a loud crash. I instantly knew that sound—my dad had fallen. He had fallen a few times, and it always sounded the same. I quickly came out of my room, expecting to see him in the hallway needing help getting up. He wasn't there.

 

I ran into his room where I found him face down on the floor and unresponsive. I thought he had just fallen out of bed, so I shook him hard and asked him if he was okay. No response. I shook him harder and asked again, louder, if he was okay. There was still no response. 

 

By that time my aunt made it to the doorway to his room and asked what happened. I said I’m not sure, I think he fell out of bed but I can’t get a response. I rolled him onto his back and saw a large, bloody gash above his right eye—he had hit the table beside his bed as he fell. I got him onto his back and checked for a pulse—there wasn't one. I checked to see if he was breathing—he wasn't.

 

I had learned how to do CPR years ago, but fortunately I had never had to actually use it on a person. Something just kicked in and I immediately tilted my dad’s head back, cleared his airway and began doing chest compressions. At this point my aunt starts freaking out and screaming, wanting to know what’s going on. I told her to call 9-1-1 because my dad wasn't breathing. My cousin happened to be there, too, so I told her to go outside and wait in the street so they don’t have to guess which house to come to… but it was mostly to keep her from seeing what was happening.

 

My aunt held the phone up with the 9-1-1 operator on the line. I told him the situation and that I had already started CPR, so he just stayed on the line and counted for me while I continued to do CPR. 

Minutes passed like hours, and to be honest, it felt like I was living someone else’s life in those moments—it felt so surreal, like it wasn't really happening—but I finally heard the ambulance sirens. The EMTs rushed in but there wasn't enough room for them and their equipment, so we had to move my dad into the front room. One grabbed his shoulders, and another grabbed a leg and I grabbed his other leg and we rushed him down the hall and into the family room. 

 

I couldn't deal with it any more. I retreated to my bedroom, shut the door and collapsed. I was shaking violently and could barely breathe myself. I was in shock and yet I still wasn’t sure that it was all real. Was this really happening?

 

They worked on my dad for about 45 minutes in the family room. During that time, his heart stopped twice, but both times they were able to bring him back with the shock of a defibrillator. When he was stable enough, they transported him to the hospital. He was still unconscious. My aunt asked me if I was going to follow them to the hospital, but I just shook my head no. I told her I would be out there in a little bit.  I just couldn't do it right then. 

 

Once the EMTs arrived at the house, my cousin called my mom and she met the ambulance at the hospital. At the hospital, the doctors did a series of tests and they eventually ran a stent into one of his arteries. They also did a CT scan to check for brain damage. Luckily, no damage was found and although the gash above his eye looked horrible, it was just superficial. 

 

My cousin, who went with my aunt to the hospital, texted me updates throughout the afternoon. Although he was still unconscious, I honestly thought he would pull through… I mean that’s how it works on T.V., right? Someone goes down, another person performs CPR, cut away to a commercial break and when they come back, the person is up and walking around like nothing happened. Plus, growing up, I always suspected that my dad was some kind of undercover superhero, because he always made everything better no matter how bad things seemed. Besides, I couldn't imagine a world without my dad… it was just never going to happen.

 

A little after 6 p.m. I get another text—my dad’s blood pressure is slowly dropping and nothing is working to bring it up. I need to get to the hospital. To be honest, at that point I was still in shock. I took a quick, cold shower in order to try to snap out of it and then I drove out to the hospital. When I got there, my family was gathered in the room. My dad was in intensive care and hooked to a ventilator. He would have hated that. After the last stint with a ventilator, he told everyone that he never wanted to be hooked to one of those things again because it was horrible. 

 

My mom signed a DNR because that’s what my dad wanted.  As his blood pressure dropped more and more, we all began to realize that he wasn't coming back. That was the most agonizing two hours of my life—watching the numbers on the monitor slowly fall until there was nothing. My dad was gone. 

 

Watching my mom hold my dad’s hand and tell him goodbye was unbearable. I just sat there by the bed and stared off into space. I still wasn't sure if all that was really happening or not because it felt like a horrible nightmare. 

 

As far as feeling guilty goes—I’m guilty. I felt guilty that my dad was hooked to that ventilator, knowing how much he hated it. Part of me wished that he would have passed away at home so he wouldn't have had to go through that. The nurse, in trying to comfort me, told me that because my dad received CPR immediately, I gave him eight more hours—which allowed my mom and family to be by his side and tell him goodbye, because otherwise he most likely never would have made it to the hospital according to her. That made me feel guilty for wishing I hadn't been there to start CPR. I wished I hadn't been there because, while everyone was with him and saw him go “peacefully” at the hospital, I had to live the nightmare of finding him and performing CPR—I found him basically dead once, and then I got to watch him die again at the hospital. I felt guilty for thinking about it that way. Also, CPR is a horrible, horrible thing to perform on someone—ribs and cartilage crack and snap and you can feel it. My last moments with my dad involve that—again, part of me wishes I hadn't been there.  Then there’s the guilt of not taking my dad to the doctor the moment he said he wasn't feeling well. Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve, right?

 

In the end though, the truth is that no one knows what’s going to happen. You can do everything right, but when it’s someone’s time to go then it’s just their time and nothing can prevent it. It was just my dad’s time and nothing was going to stop it from happening. 

 

I have good days and bad days.  Some days, like you, the pain is unreal and I can hardly breathe. In the days after it happened, walking past his room (which I have to do to get to mine) was unbearable. I could see him lying on the floor in my mind and the whole scenario would play out on an endless loop. Other days are good though, and I find myself laughing about something that reminds me of him. I just take it day by day and moment by moment, it’s the best any of us can do. 

 

I find that on particularly bad days, pulling out my bicycle and going on a 50 mile ride seems to help. I don’t know if it’s the fresh air, the getting out of the house, or the fact that by the time I’m finished, I’m ready to pass out… but it breaks the mood.  If I can’t ride, pulling out my guitar and playing for a while seems to help. Just find something that you love doing and focus on that for a while. It helps. I don’t think the pain every really goes away, but it becomes a lot more bearable.