Landed in Newark on Friday July 13th on my normal early flight. I had talked to Dad earlier that week about picking me up which he often did. He would leave work and come over to Newark and off we would go. He was always so wonderful about picking me up from the airport when I was coming home. No matter if I was taking a bus, a train or a plane, it was always my home and for a short time, I got to slip back into a comfortable, familiar and safe role within my family. This time I was going to accompany him to his doctor’s appointment for his diagnosis, which we were pretty certain was Prostate Cancer. He had been battling symptoms of this for months now and this would give us at least one answer. We would then figure out what action plan to put in place. The last time I was home, he was doing what he did, which was to make jokes. He said on more than one occasion that he had a “good run” and that it was the people left behind who suffered. I thought maybe at a worst-case scenario that I might have only 10 years with him. Everyone always said that this cancer was one of the beatable ones.
After exiting the airport, I saw him from about 30 yards away standing next to his car. He looked handsome as usual and we just kind of looked at one another during my walk. I know he had just come from work, a place he loved and who loved him right back and I was told later that he was so happy when he left, looking forward to this special wedding weekend for Julie and Nick. Family affairs were always full of laughter, love and joy. Before the doctor, however and much to my delight, he wanted to try out a new restaurant. Later in the meal I joked with him that we would have his surprise 85th birthday party there. He couldn’t wait to take mom back and I pictured us all going. I didn’t always get one on one time with Dad and it had become more precious in my older years. That lunch will always remain a highlight and blessing. That night we dined out for Chinese, a favorite of ours. In retrospect it was so simple and ordinary, yet so sacred. At home later at one point, as if foreshadowing, Dad pointed to a painting and mentioned that he wanted me to have it. He said I know your mom was hesitant, but you met him (the artist) and I want you to have it. He said it with such certainty. The details of our conversations that day, the appointment, dinner with mom and winding down the night with me laying on the bed watching TV with my mom as my dad dozed off will always remain crystal clear with almost script like perfection.
Saturday, July 14th 2018 came like all the others. The day that became a divider in my life, splitting it into my life with my parents and the life without my father started out like most mornings with them… they started VERY early. My mom had gotten a friend to do her hair and then mine for the wedding. It was a typical morning almost reminiscent of my childhood, except that I had slept in the guest bedroom as one month earlier I had shipped most of my belongings back to Austin. My dad was busy as usual, working with a contractor to try and fix the ceiling where the upstairs shower was leaking. At one point there was a waterfall of dust and debris from the ceiling. Dad looked like he was in trouble and asked me to go distract my mom for a bit. I was good at that. I had loads of photos and it was show and tell all over again. Then as the wedding grew closer my mom had wanted to try and go to Kohls to get some leggings. I hesitated briefly thinking maybe I would stay home, but then thought, well mom could use my help, since we had almost lost her last fall. Much to my confusion, she left her little Cozette home. I didn’t understand at the time, but she knew how my dad operated. He wanted to finish painting the pool deck. It was a warm day in July and she was worried about him. Having not lived at home in over a decade or more, I didn’t think anything of it. My dad was invincible as far as I was concerned. Bringing on 83 or not, he did it all. Pool work on a Saturday morning was not unusual, even in the heat.
Well on our mission at Kohls, but not as successful for my mom, I went up to her and said that I thought we should go. I think I had felt guilty that I was shopping and finding work clothes after trying to help her find the one thing they didn’t have of course. We headed home and from what I remember arrived around 1:05. We walked in to normalcy and then everything changed forever. I walked in and threw my shopping bags down in a heap on the kitchen table. I heard my dad coming in from the other room, shirtless, hand on his heart, speckled in paint. I thought he was being silly and said, “Hey Dad, are you Ok?” and he replied in the most soft-spoken voice I’ve ever heard come out of him “no, no I’m not”. He proceeded to whisper that he didn’t feel well and thought he was having heat stroke. He thought we needed to call 911. Much to my surprise, I jumped into action, dialing 911. I had only done this once or twice in my life. I described what was happening and tried my best to assess his conditions and symptoms. I went to grab the aspirin, but he waved his hand away and said he had taken 5. I asked if he had pains in his left arm, and he shook his head as if waving away an absurd thought. He had said that he had jumped into the pool, eaten ice cream and tried to cool off. I remember thinking to myself, well we might not be going to the wedding, but we got this. I saw my hand trembling holding the phone and was thinking, Elle pull yourself together, you have this. You’re being really professional. After the emergency services and I had disconnected I went to get something cool. Much like my dad, I can try and play a role that is needed. I told him to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. I even joked around that he had his hands folded on his chest, a body language sign that my mom had always pointed out to both dad and I was. I had the fan placed on him and mom was helping hold him and keep him calm. I pillaged the freezer, momentarily annoyed I couldn’t find any ice packs. I found frozen asparagus and put it on his head and then found some washcloths to drench and put in the freezer. When one finally seemed cold enough I brought it to my dad’s forehead to put on. I was planning to alternate between the two.
Then everything changed. When my back was turned at one point, I heard my mom’s voice pleading and saying, “Hubee no” and when I turned around, I saw his head was tilted back and his eyes were rolled back into his head. I should preface this whole experience with the fact that I’ve never seen my dad hurt or sick or in pain. The worst was his broken leg in 2017 after falling in the pool, which may have been his 7th life. To suddenly see life slipping away from the most important man in my life was like being in a car and having it careening out of control and no way out. I exploded in tears seeing my mom’s panic and terror, but somehow managed to call 911. This time, my thoughts were not of acting brave, but fear, panic and desperation. I might not have all the details correct but it didn’t seem that he was breathing. When I was pleading with the operator to get here and that I thought my dad was having a heart attack, he told me to calm down. I wanted to hurt this person and shake him through the phone. Why didn’t he just GET THE AMBULANCE HERE. WHY WAS IT TAKING SO LONG?! But then I realized I had a choice. Looking at how terrified my mom was and how in danger my dad was, I decided (involuntary or not) to try and provide the most information I could. Was he breathing? I don’t know? Oh wait.. there was a noise.. ok yes, he must be.. he sounded like he was snoring. I thought it was odd, but it seemed like a good sign. Then there was silence. I said “ I don’t know.. I don’t know” I can’t hear anything anymore…. Then there were orders to get him on the floor and to start doing CPR. I didn’t know how to do this and all of a sudden it was like I wasn’t even in my own body. I had mom get him on the floor with me, putting a hand towel under his head. I put my phone on speaker, on the chair where he was sitting just seconds ago and took in orders like a frightened first-time nurse. I could see my mom crumbling into pieces and said she should take her phone and call his oldest daughter, Tracy to tell her what was going on. I felt that she could provide help as a nurse and also give my mom something on which to focus. I proceeded to count, and position my hands as I was told. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was sure I was doing this wrong and pleaded to the stranger on the phone to stay with me and tell me what I was doing. Crack.. I heard something breaking. I felt that I was hurting him and nothing was helping him. Counting “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 7”. “A little faster they said”. “Where is the ambulance?!” My tears were flowing and I was pleading with him to come back. “Dad please!” I felt a weight in my heart and it was like my worst nightmare was happening. I had a dream right after Hurricane Harvey that I was with my parents and we were stuck in the thick of it. but we were together and, in my dream, I wasn’t scared. There was a moment when a voice said, just hang on.. here we go. We were supposed to just let go.. falling… falling into the ocean. When I landed I was fine, but I looked over and my mom was hovering over my dad who was floating on the water, motionless. There was a doctor saying, “I’m sorry ma’am, but his heart stopped beating”. As if she didn’t understand, she questioned “but he’s going to be ok, right”. At this earth-shattering realization in my dream I broke into sobs that seeped through me and even upon waking I couldn’t shake it and was awake for at least an hour trying to stop myself from the faucet that had unleashed itself. Even Scott couldn’t stop my despair. Ironically, when the ambulance came, and while I was desperately tried to read every expression on their face. hopeful, empathetic, focused, my mother was pleading to herself, to God, to anyone, that she would take him anyway she could. She knew that less than a year ago, St Luke’s Hospital (where we insisted he had to go) they saved her life.. multiple times. She had coded and we all were flying in to say goodbye. Talk about irony. Barely knowing what I was doing, I was dialing Kim and Ray. I needed someone strong and they could always be counted on. I called Scott as we waited in my Dad’s idling Volkswagen Tiguan waiting to follow the ambulance. I called Anjali once at the hospital and she truthfully told me that it wasn’t good. I went in to meet my mom and sat there like I had seen people on television shows. They had 14 people working on him but at some moment, they came out to tell us that there was nothing more they could do. The finality, shock, horror, disbelief sunk me to the hospital floor. My life officially had changed. Yes, that’s all I could feel, was my loss. All that Dad had done for me, for us and we couldn’t help him in his time of need. I had never seen anyone in the hospital like this. I just kept looking at him expecting him to come to life. His hands were speckled with dried paint from his work earlier that day. The hands that walked me down the aisle, picked me up when I fell and who hoisted me on various horses hundreds of times. I didn’t want to leave him there alone, but the time came. I told him thank you, how much I loved him, told him that I was sorry, kissed him and said goodbye.
