It Happens Like That

Every weekday morning at 6:00 a.m. from the time I was about 12 years old, my dad would call me to wake me up. He and my mom had divorced and that was one of the many ways he stayed involved in my life. Even into adulthood and after I became a mother, he would always call to make sure I and later my kids and I were up and getting ready for work and school.

On this day in particular, I woke up at 6:00 a.m., but not to the sound of the phone, but to the absence of the sound of the phone. I called my dad and he didn’t answer. I called back a couple more times and he still didn’t answer. Even though my dad was 86, I didn’t expect the worse because it wasn’t unusual not to be able to reach him as he could be out taking his morning walk without his phone. I called him several more times while preparing breakfast and reminding my kids to get ready for school. I got my kids to school and went back to my house to get ready for my class. Having no doubt he would answer the phone by now, I called again. No answer. I decided I should go check on him. I began to panic and called back repeatedly while gathering my stuff and making my way to his house which was about four miles away.

Finally, about two miles down the road and halfway to his house, he answered his phone. He didn’t sound right and I asked him what was wrong. He responded with “I don’t know”. I tried to get him to elaborate but he wasn’t able to. I told him I was on my way to his house. Since I had a class that morning, I had to tell my biology instructor I wasn’t going to be there so I called her and explained to her what was going on. She told me it sounded as if he was having a stroke and suggested I call 9–1–1 when I got to his house.

When I arrived, he was in his office sitting in the chair like he did every day. Today he had a look on his face that was completely not him. I greeted him and asked him what was going on. He seemed very confused but it didn’t appear as though he had a stroke. I asked him some questions, asked him what his grandchildren’s names were. He couldn’t answer me he just sat there with a confused look on his face. I went and called 9–1–1.

A few minutes later the paramedics showed up and that was the last time I would ever see him sitting there.

The paramedics arrived and took him to the hospital. I drove myself. They admitted him. They ran a bunch of tests but couldn’t figure out what was wrong. They said it wasn’t a stroke. They kept him there for a couple of days and released him. When I took him home, we had a pretty normal conversation. He seemed a little tired but that was to be expected after being in the hospital. But he seemed normal.

I wish I never would have left him to go home that day but I had to go home to my kids. He seemed okay though.

When I got back the next day he was up but was still in his pajamas. That was unlike him. My dad always got up in the morning, took a shower and was dressed and ready. Today he wasn’t. But he seemed like he was okay and insisted I go to class.

When I got back, he hadn’t gotten up or even moved out of that chair. He had a strange look on his face. He told me he had to go to the bathroom but he couldn’t move his legs. I called 9–1–1 again because it wasn’t right. He was taken back to the hospital by ambulance and that was the last time he would ever be at his house.

I spent a month by his side at the hospital which was about 45 minutes away from where I live. I watched him age and it was so difficult for me to watch. My cousins drove up from southern California to help but I still felt so alone. Having no siblings can be very difficult sometimes.

He was put on life support twice before I found his advanced health directive with his “DNR” Do Not Resuscitate. I went against his wishes but I didn’t know. Ultimately, however, it was up to me to make the decision, a decision I didn’t want to make.

When you’re in that situation and the doctors know there’s no hope for the person to live a “normal” life, they suggest doing the humane thing, which is to let the person go. I couldn’t say yes to this. I couldn’t say no. All I could do was cry and tell them to let me think about it.

Luckily I didn’t agree because he did come out of it. Not completely normal but enough to where he was moved to a care home. Thank God I did what I did.

He went to the care home and he seemed to know I was there. In the end, I was able to be by his side during his final hours. I held his hand and we communicated by hand squeezes. I know he knew I was there. He knew I love him and I know, of course, that he loves me. He was my best friend and I miss him so much. But, at 86, he had a long and wonderful life.