An Ode to My Dead Dad
All the things I’d tell him if he were still here.
Dad, I wish I could get the last image of you out of my head. It was a sacred and devastating thing, to see you right after you’d died. But it was almost as heartbreaking as watching you for weeks in a coma, fighting to stay alive.
I walked into your hospital room that final day thinking I could handle it. My brother warned me it would be hard because he’s seen death more than I have. But I never anticipated it would be that harrowing. I forgot how to breathe, my hands were shaking, and despite my best effort I couldn’t stop sobbing.
All I could say was I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you.
For some reason, no part of me saw this coming. I knew you were in hot water when they put you in a medically-induced coma. I knew it wasn’t great that you’d gone into cardiac arrest. And although I am a connoisseur of worst-case scenarios, you not surviving was beyond the realm of possibility. Even my catastrophizing mind couldn’t fathom that being an option.
I never got the chance to talk to you about being sick. When you were admitted to the hospital, nobody knew quite what we were in for. They said pancreatitis, that we had to ride it out, that it was unpredictable. You tried not to throw up in front of me because you knew…
