It's all hitting me now. I couldn't understand why it was suddenly taking such a toll on me. My husband even asked me why I was talking about certain things right now- all of a sudden? The two weeks leading up to losing my dad was so intense. I have read the quote that says "you never know how strong you are until you don't have a choice" so many times before. I guess that's how I got through it all. 

The ten days before the last day was what did me in. I cannot believe what my mom and I had been through. My sister was there throughout the day, and my brother throughout the night. But my mom and I, we were there for the ten day, 24-hour stretch. I rarely saw my husband or my kids; my husband graciously took over all parenting, and my friends took over watching the boys for hours after school. I was able to grab glimpses of them when I could pick them up from a friend, hours after school ended. Friends and the boys' teachers responded to my never-ending texts about pick up arrangements and lunch box confusions. Texts to make sure everyone was watching for odd behavior since things were really off at home and that mom was no longer really around. I had not spent the night at our own home since we had brought my dad home from the hospice center. Every time I saw my boys, I would tell them, "thank you for sharing me with Grandpa." With teary eyes they would say, "It's okay. We know Grandpa needs your help." How awesome are these boys of mine?

Throughout these ten days, we had seen some very devastating things, that will never seem to leave my mind. Through being at the ICU, to the hospice center, and then to home, things were changing drastically. Each doctor, nurse, and hospice nurse had warned us that what we were taking on was quite a bit for our family, for any family. The only response we had was "these are his wishes and we want to honor his wishes." Dad had always done anything and everything for all of us. You could see each person had their own reason for wanting to honor his wishes and bring him home. I had many meltdowns in between each transition. I am a person who likes to have her family right by her side, and truly, truly enjoys her quite/alone time. I was on duty for my dad 24/7. I missed work, homework, soccer games, and goodnight kisses. Instead they were replaced with good night calls from my son's smartwatch, pictures, and texts. Ugh. 

I was draining quickly. I could feel it. I slept on my parent's couch with a baby monitor blaring, and then on my parent's bedroom floor to be closer to my dad, for many nights. I was awakened every 20 minutes by my father, who felt he needed to suddenly get a "contract signed," or "fix his friend's TV," who had already preceded him to Heaven about 4 years before, or to get in the car to head to Simi Valley (where he was buried), or simply, to pee. After sleeping about 2 hours total, all split up throughout the night, my sister would take over most of the daytime shift so that my mom and I could shower, take a quick nap, or so that I could let our new pup out to pee. When the hospice nurse would arrive to get the lowdown on my father's stats, my mom and I could not get out any complete sentences. We would stare intensely as she spoke, hoping for some magic solution to the pain we were all feeling. My sister would take detailed notes of how we would try the medications for the next night. My eyes would be welled up with tears right above the dark black circles beneath my eyes. Each time the nurse would try to talk us into bringing my dad into a cold, dark facility, to die. That is NOT what he wanted OR what we wanted for him. He so admired how my Grams passed, and talked about the beauty of it often. She had her family surrounding her and she died peacefully, at home. Boy, we tried so hard for my dad. So much so that we became walking zombies, who would follow the 25 foot oxygen tube around the house, in a total panic, to see where he had walked off to in the middle of the night. Waking up my brother in the middle of the night to carry dad back to bed when he had lost too much oxygen, and was nearly unconscious while passed out in the bathroom, was becoming too much of a sight to see. We were all breaking. My sister made all the plans necessary to have her girls taken care of so that she could relieve us for that night because I wanted desperately to go home. I needed my boys and a few hours of sleep, which I often regret now. As the day and night went on, Dad started talking about "being ready to go home." We tried to tell him that he was at his home, but he seemed like we were the ones who were confused, as he looked around the room in discontent. In hindsight, he knew exactly what he as talking about. My mom had finally laid down in their bed and was able to fall asleep for a nap. My sister catered to his needs for a bit and then walked my dad to bed to lay down with "his wife." He snuggled up to her. This was his most comfortable place for each of them to be in all honesty. For days he had been talking to brothers and friends who had passed before him as if they were sitting in the room right there with us. He started drifting further and further from us. He would hand me crossword puzzle books and tell me he signed them and for me to give them to "his attorney." He said he was ready to get in the car and sleep until he got back to Simi. He shook his head like he was fed up and done when we questioned where "home" was. He called out for his good buddy, who was his employee years ago, asking him to help him! That's the same man who took care of him for us in California at the mortuary. It was time, and yet, we were all completely blind-sighted. It's as if we all expected him to go on in this state, FOREVER. The last thing he knew was that he was laying in their comfy bed, with the lady of his life- my mom. We had oddly ordered dinner that night. There were many days, nights, that we had not eaten anything at all. Well, we were half-way eating dinner, telling stories, laughing here and there, out of delirium. We were all listening intently to the sounds coming out of that baby monitor throughout each bite. We each took turns checking in on dad, with each sound that was out of the norm. He was finally sleeping for the first time in days. We didn't dare bother him. 

I personally heard some loud breathing, followed by a big gasp on the monitor. I wasn't panicked because I had heard it a few times before and each time he was calmly sleeping and breathing when I went to check on him. But, on my conscious, I could not ignore it at all. So, I went to check on him and instantly saw a difference in color. His chest wasn't moving. I turned cold and ran to the front room to have others check. The words barely left my mouth as I said, "I feel like he's not breathing. Please check." As my mom headed down the hallway, my mom told me to stop it- stop it! She desperately started checking his oxygen hose for some sort of a disconnection to fix the problem. I ran out of the room- I could hear my brother and sister yelling "DAD??" "DAD??" There was no response at all. I was so scared to go back in the room, so I called my husband. I told him that it "might" be time to come. And, that I think he "might" be gone. I really knew he was gone, but was too afraid to admit the words. I called my little brother to come home from work. That was the most awful call ever to make. Again, I said that "I think it's time to come home."

He showed up 10 minutes later. 

That was it. He was gone. 

But all the feelings are not gone. The grief finally kicked in and it kicked my a$$.