The first day, February 7, 1998. The day my son's father died. I can't got into a whole lot of detail, but I'll say that it was heart-wrenching. He had a heart attack. I performed CPR until paramedics got there. By the time the paramedics got there, all of his sons were there.
He was never revived. Basically he died right in front of our eyes. It hurt for me, but for each child he called son, it was something they never should have had to experience.
Yeah, I'd rather forget that day.
The next day, January 24, 2012. That was the day my father died. He'd been not long before, diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given 6 months to a year to live. While my mind was trying to wrap around that information, his body was already letting go. I can't remember the exact number of days, but I'm pretty sure it was some time after the 1st that he told me this and he left this earth on the 24th.
3 something in the afternoon. Surrounded by me and my brothers, with my sister on the phone. Crazy thing is that he started slipping away when I was the only one there. I hurried and called my sister so she could say goodbye and by the time he took his last breath, my brothers weren't there.
The nurse kept checking for a pulse and couldn't call it until there was none. It was nearly 10 minutes later that my brothers and sons would make it up to the hospital and it was then that his heart beat no more.
That's another day I'd rather forget.
At the same time however, those are days that I hope I always remember as those were the last day that I spent with my loved ones.
2 comments:
(((HUGS)))
Death is something we all have to deal with, I know the day my father died was a very hard day for me.
Even worse is the prospect of having to bury a child. No parent wants to do that. The other way is far more natural.
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