ellie's madre: May 2008

So, I'm having a bit of a rough time right now. My dad passed away 3 years ago on May 15th. I had gone into labor visiting him in the ICU and had to be admitted myself. I was released 3 days later and put on strict bedrest for the next 4 weeks. But...my dad was dying. I chose to go home (3 hours away) with Jimi, because I had to make myself and Eleanor the priority. I will never forget saying goodbye to him and sobbing. I had to lay in bed and get updates on him through my sister. We had chosen to take him off of the machines and let him go. None of my family was strong enough to sit with him at the end. I would lay in bed and talk to him in my mind. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but I believe that we communicated. One night, as I lay crying in bed, I told him that it was okay to let go. He had held on for almost 2 weeks. His body was shutting down. I told him that we would be okay. That I loved him so much and he was a great father to me. That I was proud to be his daughter.

And I got a call a few hours later that he had passed away. I really do believe that he felt me giving him permission.

I took care of as much as I could from my bed and limited computer time. I arranged the cremation, gave all of the info for his death certificate, called Social Security. I did the best I could from so far away. I wish I could have been with him. I wish I could have brought him his suit. I wish I could have helped my brother clean his apartment. But I couldn't. And I know my dad would have wanted me to take care of the life inside of me. He was so upset when we lost our first pregnancy. And was so excited when we were pregnant again.

This year's anniversary wasn't as hard as the last two. I miss him immensely. I still haven't deleted his number from my cell phone. I just can't do it. I have his wallet, filled with his scribbly writing. I have one of his handkerchiefs that he used to carry around in his back pocket. I was cleaning the garage a few weeks back, and came across his wallet. He was a heavy smoker, and everything always reeked of that cigarette smell. Well, his wallet barely had that scent. And I cried. I used to hate that smell.

Well, my brother lived with him and they had a bad relationship. Lots of take, scream, yell. I have never forgiven my brother for the horrible things that he did to my dad. My dad was almost 70 and in bad health. My brother was in a terrible car accident last year. The driver had fallen asleep. The driver's girlfriend died. Michael was in a coma.

My brother is 27 years old, and lives in a convalescent home. It's pretty shitty. But the times I've seen him, he reminds me of my dad. He suffered a severe brain injury and is impaired. The way he jokes with Eleanor just seems like something my dad would have done. The way he laughs. The way he cusses out the nurses and thinks everyone is conspiring against him. Exactly my dad.

Now I find out that my brother has stage 3 kidney disease. There are only 5 stages. At stage 4, you have to start thinking about dialysis or a kidney transplant. Stage 5 is end stage renal failure. I know this because my dad had stage 5 kidney failure.

And I am brought right back to thinking about my dad. So many similarities between them. Sometimes I think my dad is in there with him. It could very well be. I can't imagine him not being there with him. Maybe that is why I don't "feel" him around me anymore. I don't know. My brother is forever changed from the accident. But I hope that when he dreams, he is well and living it up.

I'm not looking for sympathy. I just had to get some of that out.