Please just answer the phone

I've been having really severe panic/anxiety attacks lately accompanied by the sudden and traumatic flashbacks from the night my father passed away. He died of a heart attack on Feb 2, 2006. I've never really talked about it thoroughly enough to completely let it go. I'm guessing. His birthday is coming up on May 27th and it's always the hardest day for me to get through. So in an attempt to clear me of my life sentence of sadness, shakiness, anxious days and sleepless nights, this is the story of the night my father died. 

Weds. Feb 1st, 2006

This day started normal. It was almost 4 weeks to the day. I had just moved in with my Dad and step mother. I was 19 years old. I graduated from high school the previous year and had been living in Georgia with my mother and two young daughters. My youngest was only 3 months old. I moved to Texas to live with my dad in January. This day was special because my father was working long shifts and was off early from work which was uncommon. It was a beautiful sunny day in Houston. It was sweater weather but a lovely day for a walk. My step mom was still at work and by some miracle chance both of the girls were sleeping at the same time, also uncommon. I was outside with my dad just talking about life and where I should start. Reluctant to leave the babies asleep I convinced him to take a short little stroll around the house. I can't remember everything we said but I remember saying something that made him chuckle and his bright smile shined down on me. It made me laugh making him laugh. I loved this moment we shared. It's probably my most special memory to date. Anyway, we made it back home and shortly thereafter the day turned to night. It was after dinner dad announced he was going out for pool with my Uncle. This was common. It was early in the evening when he left, the times escape me. It had to be no more than an hour or 2 before the sound of Daddy's Trans am came roaring back into the carport. It seemed strange at first that he was home so soon but the girls were still awake and were happy to see him so we didn't question him. He said he wasn't feeling good, played with the girls for a minute in the hall way. He peeked in my room walked in and kissed me good night and went to bed.

It was eerily quiet after putting the girls to bed. I was unpacking my last box and finally had the room the way I wanted it. I was missing my mom so I decided to read my Bible. It was around 11:30pm maybe closer to midnight already. I sat on my bed, swung my feet under the covers and opened the Bible. I wasn't even focused on a paragraph yet when I heard the first set of small pulsed knocks at my door. I was so frightened I had to pause to listen for it again because I thought I was hearing things. Sure enough, "Knock, knock, knock!!!" I opened the door expecting the small face of my baby daughter to find the fear struck face of my step mother. She had the phone clenched in both hands up to her chest and motioned me to come here. The hall from my room led down to a bathroom at the end of the hall. To the left was my daughter's room and to the right the master bedroom. Preparing for the worst and anticipating that left hand turn into the babies' room, to my dismay she made that right and led me into her bedroom.

In retrospect I know now that at that moment I should have started praying but I didn't. She said as she turned into the room in a whisper as not to wake the girls, "It's your dad." I followed close behind into the dark. The only light was by the television. Dad was on the left side of the bed. The bed was high off the floor, at least to my waist. I went to his side and touched his skin, he was clammy, cool to the touch. His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow and rattled as if the air was going in but couldn't escape. His mouth was developing a white foam as his saliva was building up around his lips because he couldn't swallow. His color was changing from pale to light blue. I panicked.

Gabby was on the line with 911. I thought of several different scenarios in my head, all of which lead to him being alive. He was unresponsive at that point. I tried focusing on my CPR training from baby sitting class and knew I had to get him on the floor to tilt his head. He was over 200 lbs.There was no way. I jumped on top of him and listened but I just heard rattling and felt no air. I knew he wasn't breathing but I wasn't going to stop trying to get him to wake up so I listened for a heart beat and convincing myself I heard one (when I really didn't) I tried administering mouth to mouth resuscitation with no success. The scenarios in my head at that point were changing with the worsening conditions of my father and every helpless second that passed. The heightened sense of panic and level of severity of what was happening was all too much for me and I got nauseous. I jumped off the bed and ran into my room where I puked in the trash. All at once I ran outside and began waking the neighbors for help to get my dad on the floor.

The first wasn't home. The second ran out and ran inside. The third was a nurse. We retreated to the bedroom but I couldn't stay in the room. I couldn't stand seeing my strong dad laying on the floor. I know now I should have went back in and stayed with my Pops. I should have asked him to hang on and told him that I was right there. Held onto his hand the way I had millions of times before for comfort to comfort him in this critical moment when he was leaving me for good but I never went back into the room. Not until it was all over. I sat in the living room for a while. I didn't know what to do.

The sirens were whirring now and I knew someone should be outside to direct the paramedics but instead I went into the girls' room and packed a bag with diapers and wipes and extra clothes. I grabbed them both up and went to living room. There were a few other neighbors there by then and shortly after I went outside to greet the paramedics. They rushed in but I couldn't stand the commotion nor did I want the girls to see anything they shouldn't so I took them and went next door. I called a friend who lived in the neighborhood also and she came. It seemed surreal to be sitting in a stranger's living room at 1 in the morning with two baby girls like nothing was going on. My father was probably already gone before they got him to the hospital.

After the ambulance left, Gabby followed with a neighbor and I went back to the house. I emptied the trash in my room and went into the master bedroom. The bed was awry, there was plastic casings and trash left from the paramedics. I was in total shock. I was in disbelief at what I had just taken part in. I forced the positive scenarios in my head like he'd be fine. He is in good hands. We'll be laughing about this tomorrow. I honestly wanted to crawl into that bed and just die right there but I had to keep my composure for my girls so I shut off the lights and left. I had no intentions to go to that hospital that night. I had already convinced myself he was going to be ok and that he'd be home in the morning. I was in denial.

My friend convinced me to go so with two small children in tow she drove me there and it was the most nauseating car ride of my life. Being so late in the evening I wasn't sure if I should call anyone. My poor uncle. I started thinking of all the terrible things that would come to pass if he didn't make it and I started to lose it in that car ride to the hospital but my friend reassured me as we pulled into the parking lot. The baby was in her car seat and I guess my friend had Julie. They took us into one of those "little rooms". I knew what was coming once we went in there but was still hopeful for good news. So many different things were going on in my head and I can't remember one of them clearly. The door creaked open and Gabby's red face confirmed my suspicions and the rest is history.  

I couldn't actually cry at first. At first I felt helplessness. I felt lost, homeless, alone. All I could say at first was No. No. No. No. No. No. No. Then the shock wore off looking at everyone's devastated teary faces. In a state of disbelief the logical thing to do was to see him. I really just wanted to freak out and start screaming but my girls little faces. They had no idea what was happening. I couldn't let them see me like that. Now I know going in that room alone with my thoughts was the biggest mistake of my life. I can't remember if anyone tried talking me out of it but I wish someone had. I never should have went into that room. I never should have seen what I saw. It haunts me almost everyday. The images from those moments seeing my dad's dead body flash in my head at the most unexplainable times. I see it in my dreams, I think about it while I'm at work. I have no tall tale triggers they are completely sporadic.

The lights were off. It was quiet and cold. He was barefoot and covered with a white sheet across the middle section. He still had the breathing tube sticking out of his mouth and he was completely purple at that point. The first thing I did was reach for his foot. When I was little my dad would take my brother and I to all sorts of cool places and whenever we'd be on floats in the water he'd always tell us to grab his toe. I think now that the worst part of all, my most traumatic incident throughout the entire ordeal has to be grabbing his cold dead toe. It is haunting. I don't know how to forget.

I swept my hand over the top of his foot and ran my hand up his shin squeezing my hand into his stiff skin. His body was empty. Here laying on this cold steel table in front of my eyes is my daddy. The person that was there for my birth into this World. The man who carried me with one hand. The man who had all the answers. The only man I ever really loved. My rock was gone in an instant. I searched his hands for the Distron ring but removed his wedding ring instead. I put my hand in his and said something stupid like I'll miss you or who knows what else but at that moment I couldn't effectively process what was happening let alone what I was saying. It didn't register until I was leaving the hospital. I got to the side of that car and nearly fainted. I started crying uncontrollably and started thinking of all the people I had to tell. We piled in the car and I started making calls. My uncle and my dad's mom. My mom. My brother. Having to tell someone that someone they love is dead is no easy feat.

I couldn't go back into the house. Gabby stayed back at the hospital and I just wanted to get the girls somewhere they could sleep. I went to the neighbors and started to call the girls' dad. My whole world came crashing down around me in a matter of hours and all I needed was to hear his voice. All of the ideas I was so passionately presenting to my vibrant father just hours earlier suddenly seemed unimportant; impossible. Anything and everything suddenly seemed overwhelming and impossible. I felt like I was walking without a crutch and I didn't even know I used one. This overwhelming sense of abandonment swept me over and all I wanted to do was talk to that one person. I kept dialing and dialing. I must have left some pretty terrible messages like, Hey my fuckin dad is dead call me back. Please just answer the phone. Please don't make me sleep without hearing your voice. Please just answer. Please just answer the phone. He was the only person who was going to be able to make me feel less alone but he just never answered the phone. It's ironic to me now that the one person I ran away from was the only person I wanted to find. Not my mom, not my brother. Him. The ugliest part is what he said to me when we finally spoke. He had the nerve to ask me if I was joking. Til this day he argues he was just sleeping. I don't deny that but what he fails to admit is that he wasn't alone. I must have called his phone70 times that morning on Feb 2, 2006 until finally crying and praying my self in and out of a slumber because I wouldn't go as far as to call it sleep.

The next morning I woke up around 8am, the girls were both sound asleep. I still hadn't talked to the girl's dad yet but I didn't have much of an urge for anything at that point. I was still in shock, disbelief and was exhausted. I figured I'd check on Gab so I walked home with Julie in my arms and I remember feeling peace when the sun hit me eyes. It was an unbelievably gorgeous day. Seeing the car in the drive way slapped me right in the face with the reality that my daddy was not about to greet me though. The serenity didn't last long. It never really does. I almost started to cry then and there but made it inside to find my dad's mom and my uncle. It was too sad to recount the ambiance in that room. I couldn't put it into words if I tried. Even the dogs were solemn. I had to go back across the way for the baby so I started to walk back to get her but when I got back outside, walking past that car I just couldn't take it anymore. I fell against the driver side door and just sank into myself in tears. My uncle appeared out of nowhere and just hugged me so hard and we were both useless. It was on my way back to get Lisey when a tiny yellow butterfly floated across the sky. I know it was him.

This pain in my throat, in my chest, in my heart and in my soul is so real, even now. Even right in this instance remembering these moments and the accompanying thoughts and emotions. Every movement I made after leaving that hospital room where my father lay lifeless was just going through the motions. It's all for nothing is how I feel sometimes. Why do we give so much to die? Why ask why? I know we are all going to die. I know he is fine. I thought I knew I was too until the moment I'm not. Every day that comes and goes is different for me. Some days are great and others suck. I miss my Pops all the time. I wish I knew a way to replace the traumatizing images with happy ones. I regret going into that room and seeing my dad in that state but then I think would I have ever really believed it had I not? People need therapy after things like a death in the family but someone who has witnessed a death and has touched the dead body of a loved one needs prayers. It's good to talk things out. Me. I just feel like I'm everyone's burden. It's almost easier to become a ghost when you're still alive than when you're dead. That's why instead of trying to talk to any of you people it's easier to write what's in my head. I'm alive and yet people treat me like I'm dead.

I'm done for now and I feel a little better for now. Life goes on. Letting go is a part of life. Sometimes its not always easy. Sometimes its not always right. Sometimes there will be questions in life that we will never get the answers to. Making my dad proud use to be the greatest motivator for me. For my Daddy Watching over me always, I will never let you down. I'll always make you proud. Nothing else matters. I know you're always with me just like that little yellow butterfly. I love you. I miss you.

Pray for me to find peace.