The Cost of Goodbyes.

     The father of a old friend passed away this weekend. It seems to be happening all too often these days, perhaps because we as a group are getting older or perhaps I am just more aware the events of home because of Facebook. Either way, it is heartbreaking. I hurt for them because I know the pain they are feeling and I hurt for myself because it forces me to relive my own father's death. Often it is expected, the end result from terminal illness and just as often, it is a shock. An accident, heart attack, or  just a tragic line up of events. I can't really say if I had to choose, the chance to say goodbye or not having to watch a parent waste away, which it would be.  I have only experienced one way and so can not possibly claim to know which is more painful.
      I personally watched my father fade away for 10 years. I lost count how many times we could have lost him because he was too weak to fight a cold or the great debate on what to do because the chances of him surviving the surgery to fix his hip were minimal at best. I lived in fear of the call in the middle of the night, the rush to be at his side and to support my mother, the call I answered several times. I grew so weary of the goodbyes that towards the end, I refused to say it. The January before he passed, we all rushed to New Mexico because his embolism (which they could not repair because he was not strong enough for surgery) showed signs of a leak. It healed (an uncommon occurance from what we were told and not permanent by any means) and luckily we brought him home a week later. One by one the siblings headed home, each one taking a few moments to say their goodbyes. 1st Chris, 2nd Shane, 3rd Gwen and finally me. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I told him goodbyes were too final and I didn't care for that. I would see him in a few months as soon as I could get back. He called me horribly optimistic and stubborn to boot. Luckily Matt and I did make it back for a visit before the last time, the day I held his hand while he died. We had a great time but it was quite evident that Dad was losing steam quickly. The day they dropped us off at the airport, he was tired but insisted on making the drive up to El Paso but he didn't get out of the car. As I walked up to his window to say my see ya later, he grabbed my hand, stared at me with tears in his eyes for what seemed like forever, pulled me into the window, said "good bye Copper Sue", and kissed me. One of only 3 times in my entire life I can remember him kissing me, including my wedding day (the photographer made us) which we had made a joke about because my Dad and I were so similar in many ways including an inability to show emotion unless it involved screaming. I knew it was the last time I would see him and cried all the way to the plane (atleast on the inside, remember inability to show emotion). A little over a month later, they found that along with all his other problems, his lung cancer was back and they probably wouldn't be able to do anything about it. They opted for chemo as a last resort, hoping it would atleast get him to the point where he could come home to Findlay to finish out his days. But at last we never found out, the embolism starting leaking again and like we had been warned, there was no stopping it this time. I rushed back to New Mexico, this time alone. 7 hours to think, to decide what I was going to say to him. But the doctors had him heavily sedated to ease the pain of bleeding out. My mom tried to wake him when I got there and told him that I had arrived, he opened his eyes looked her and said "Oh", rolled his eyes to me and fell back asleep. And that was it. Several hours later, I sent my mom away because we had no idea how long it was going to be and she had not so much as used the bathroom or ate in 24 hours. And in the hour she was gone, I sat in the dark room holding his hand and saying nothing. And in that hour, he let go.
     So goodbyes, like most things, come with a price. Are they worth it? I don't know. I know people have said if I had only known, I would have done things more different. I would have spent more time with them, would have nicer, would have said I love you. But I can tell you that my family carried the knowledge that my father was ill around for 10 years, for so long that there were times that we would forget that his outlook wasn't good. And don't get me wrong, there were some great memories made in that time. There were also plenty of fights, large gaps of time when no one could seem to find the time to even call each other let alone get together, and unfortunately regrets (but that is a different post in itself).
     I didn't intend to start off my blog with such a somber undertone. But this is life and alas, it is not always rainbows and unicorns. This is how I feel today and so this is what I share with you.
To my friends who have experienced the death of a parent, I know what your path is like, whether it has been years, months, weeks, or even hours and I am sorry. And to my friends whom I know are dealing with a parent with a terminal illness, I think of you daily.