The only reason I can’t say for sure that I don’t believe in God is because I want to believe that the people I love, who I’ve lost, are in a better place now than they were before they passed.
Yesterday I sat with my father, and watched and listened as he took his last breath.
Have you ever watched someone dying? Have you ever seen what it looks like when someone is breathing, but they’re not responsive? Do you know what it sounds like?
It looks like their chest moving up and down. Sometimes his eyes would flicker open, and others it looked like he was blinking with his eyes closed. He’d move his tongue in his mouth, like maybe he wanted to tell us something. There were quite a few times where he’d breathe in, breathe out, and stop breathing for what felt like a life time, only to gasp for air at the last minute. Almost like he was holding his breath, trying to let go, trying to leave this world, but couldn’t fight the feeling any longer, and he had to breathe in.
Until he didn’t anymore. And he was gone.
I’ve pictured the moment so many times in my head, what it would be like when my father passed away. I imagined being at work, and getting a call from my brother that our dad wasn’t with us anymore. There was no scenario where I pictured I’d be sitting with him the entire time, with my two big brothers, my little sister, and our whole family surrounding us. But that was the best way it could have happened. My dad loved his family more than anything.
I’m lucky in the way that I have no regrets about my relationship with my father. He and I were very close. I can say for sure that I did everything I could to help him whenever he needed it, and I always told him I loved him and that I missed him. I spent as much time with him as I could, whenever I could. The last time I saw him, when he was still awake and alert, I kissed him on the cheek, told him I loved him, and that I’d see him tomorrow. Which I guess I did, but not in the way I thought I would.
A day and a half later, I keep having to remind myself that he’s gone. I look at pictures of him and it doesn’t seem real.
I am completely uninterested in living in a world without my father. Not in a way like I’m going to hurt myself or anything like that, but in a way that it feels empty. There will always be something missing. My father will always be missing. How am I supposed to move on and act like things are normal after this? Nothing will be normal after this, ever again.
I hate this. More than anything. I hate this so much. I’d give anything to have him back. If I had known that our last good day with him was going to be our last good day, I would have paid more attention. I would have committed every last detail to memory. I’d listen to his laugh, the sound of his voice. I’d pay extra attention to his light blue eyes, and the way he smiled at me when he told me he loved me.
Oh God, Daddy, I miss you.
What am I supposed to do without my dad?