I came to the hospital today to find my sister and grandma talking to a hospice nurse. When I get to my dad's room my mom is next to him crying and asking me to take over because she needs a minute to collect herself. My dad is mumbling that he doesnt have much time left. My heart is sinking.
It's just like you see in movies. Family gathers around a sick loved one and everyone cries and says their "I love yous." I stay towards the back of the crowd in and out of sobs. I don't want him to see me sad but at some moments, I just can't help it. He keeps looking at the clock. It's scary and mysterious at the same time. I wonder what he sees. Everyone is talking but I don't want to talk. I just want to do what I do. I want to write it out.
He's sleeping mostly but when he's awake he manages to look at me and give me a big grin to make sure I'm ok. I guess no matter what, you never stop being a parent. He cried a little and tells me that he'll watch over me and that he'll still be beside me when I walk down the isle. I know he's hurting, but I'm not ready to let go.
The doctor comes in and sits with us. He comes to hug me and says "I always worry about the quiet ones." At that my dad looks at me and says "strong like bull, right?" "Yes," I say. "Thats how we are." You can tell my dad is scared. He asks the doctor if it will hurt, and when he says no he looks relieved and calm. Now we sit, make him comfortable, and wait.
It seems so awful- having a doctor explain to my dad how the rest of his time will go. I still can't believe this is happening. I feel like we should be at my first softball practice. They told me to go to left field. I had never played before, so I had to ask my coach, my dad, where to go. That day keeps popping into my head and for brief slivers of time, I smile...