Guilty Goodbye's

I remember waving goodbye to my Mom and Dad as they left for Little Rock. There was so much excitement in the air. Dad was weak and frail, and he would return home the same way, but he'd be cured. A trip to Hawaii would be in his future, with my mom by his side. There would be road trips to Topeka to eat at Noble House to hold him over until they left for the islands. We would celebrate another birthday of his grandchild's. And one day he would see his other daughter have a baby as well. Some day he would see my brother wait at the alter while his beautiful bride came walking towards him. There were so many promises hanging in the air. It was a great day knowing that the moment they left the driveway was the moment  that began our lives changing for the better.
I remember another good-bye, too. This time it was when I was leaving Little Rock. The previous weeks had been hell. Us kids were receiving updates from our Mom that were anything but welcomed. We hadn't gotten word that the measles had worked, in fact, they hadn't. Our last option was a bust. All our hopes were handed back to us in the form of a crude middle finger. After that news came the update that Dad had been taken to the hospital because he was having a hard time breathing. Mom sounded confident that it wasn't a big deal. Then pneumonia set in which was followed by staph and something else that were all in his blood stream. Things just kept getting worse and worse. As all of this was going on Taylor and Kobe were in Little Rock helping Mom out. Finally my turn came to go. All of the updates had seemed dismal but we kept our faith. The day of my flight out to LR Mom called me. Dad had been placed in ICU. He was hallucinating and going downhill really fast. Kobe was there with her and was supposed to be coming home, but he stayed. Taylor and Jerick were already on their way. I'll save the details of those 10 days for another time, but they were far from joyous. Don't get me wrong, there was no where else I'd rather be. I needed to be there with the rest of my family while my Dad fought hard to hold on, but it was so damn hard watch.
At one point Mom had told us that Dad had said he was going to die that day. It seemed like such a strange thing to say that I took it as truth. When midnight came and went I think we all breathed a sigh of relief that he was wrong. It was, I think, two days later that we left. Dad was awake and alert. He could talk, although it was hard to discern what he was saying. But at least we knew he could hear us telling him we loved him and that he could nod back and mumble that he loved us, too. Saying good bye that day was insanely hard to do. We had seen him come out of his coma, which was uplifting, but he was far from health and closer to death. As I said good-bye I had the feeling it was the last time I would ever see him. Even thought I felt that way I fought the idea of it. Acknowledging it felt like saying I didn't believe he could be healed. I felt guilty for thinking it. I felt like a horrible daughter for allowing such an idea cross my mind. How morbid of me to accept that he would die soon. So, I pushed the idea away and tried to not make too big of a deal of my goodbyes. My thoughts still bothered me and I kind of lingered and stood at the door longer than I planned on but something told me I would never see him after that. Finally, I dismissed the idea and left the room and we headed home to Salina. That was, in fact, the last time I ever saw my Dad. But it wasn't the last time I said good-bye.
The last time I actually said goodbye to my Dad was over the phone. Mom and I had been making plans all day to get Dad home. We knew it wouldn't be much longer so we wanted him to be home for his last moments. In a few short hours friends and strangers of our family had raised $10,000 to have him flown home on a medivac. Mom talked to all the people she needed to only to be informed that he probably wouldn't survive the drive to the airport where the helicopter would pick him up. More phone calls were made and it was evident that Dad's body had just about had all that it could humanly handle. So, my brother and I were to leave that night to Little Rock. No one was certain how long we had. I think my Mom knew. They were apart of each other, so of course she knew. But I still couldn't give up hope. I needed him to make it out of this. He was my Dad and I would never give up on him. (And I don't mean in any way that my Mom gave up, I just think her life was watching him slowly die, so she knew in her heart that it was time for him to let go and not be in pain anymore. And she knew that that was what he wanted, and as a spouse of someone else, all you want is for them to be happy even if it means letting go.)
After talking to her all I could think of was getting to LR as soon as I could. My uncle was on his way and the sooner he got there the more time I had with my Dad. He had texted me to let me know he was there. As I was walking out the door my Mom called me. She asked if there was anything I wanted to say to Dad. She had the phone up to his ear and said he could hear me but couldn't speak. I should have known then, but I felt guilty again so I kind of blew it off. I told him I loved him and I was on my way and that I would be by his side soon to tell him in person how much I loved him. She told me to tell all the kids to talk to him. They all told him they loved him. I rushed it, though. I told Mom I had to go because Uncle Craig was outside and I really wanted to get on the road. She sounded upset and told me to tell Dad anything I needed to say to him and not worry about getting on the road. Even after she said that I still rushed my words and said good-bye. A few minutes later we were on the road to Little Rock. Less than an hour later my Mom called me to tell me that my Dad was gone. All I can think now is that the last time I spoke to him my words weren't comforting or full of love, they were rushed and ignorant of reality.

We Are All Strong

Yesterday my best friend had to say good-bye to someone she loved. It came with no warning. Her uncle was here one minute and gone the next. I can't even fathom having someone you care about so deeply leave this world forever for no apparent reason. It just baffles me.
I've talked to so many people who have lost a loved one from a car wreck, or heart attack, or a freak accident and they all say they don't think that they could have done what I did. They couldn't have watched someone suffer and fight, to slowly lose at a visible rate. And I admit, it was hard, it's still hard to think about. To think that the last time I saw my Dad he was so weak and so frail, and he barely resembled my himself. Sometimes I wish for a brief second that I didn't see him like that. That I didn't have to see him hooked up to all those machines, tubes, and meds. I think about when they left for Little Rock. He was so small, and so fragile, but he could still walk and breathe on his own. He could still eat food with a fork and not a tube. I wrote a blog a while back about how much he had changed and how sick he had gotten. I would give anything in the world to have had the last time I had seen him be like he was when I wrote that. That was nothing compared to what we all saw as he sat in ICU. I hope my friends never have to see someone they love the way I saw my Father those last few precious days. But I know that I am so thankful I had those moments and didn't have to say good-bye in shock and in bewilderment. I'm not strong or brave for handling my Dad's sickness, and ultimately his death, with composure. And my friends are not weak for handling their sudden losses with overwhelming grief. I don't even know if I could handle it if my Dad had left us from something so sudden. Yes, he was sick. Yes, it was hard, but we knew his days were coming to an end and we made sure we said everything we needed to and spent our time together. No matter the circumstance we are all dealing with grief. Mine was spread out over a few years. My friends' all came at once. Neither one is fair. Death isn't fair. Death is a tremendous blow to your soul no matter what way it was delivered. We have all lost someone, and we are all strong for dealing with it in whatever way our hearts could handle.

Mood Congruency Theory.

My senior year of High School I took an AP Psychology class to get ahead on the psych degree I was going to pursue in college. I learned so many interesting things that I still remember to this day. One of the most prevalent things was the mood congruency theory. Essentially all it means is that when you have a happy thought, your brains continues to pull up happy memories or memories that gave you a similar feeling as to what you just felt. The same theory also applies to sadness. I've been living proof of this theory a lot lately. It seems like whenever something bad happens that makes me angry, upset, or sad, the next thought that pops into my head is that my Dad is gone. It's the strangest thing.
I've felt like such a monster lately because I didn't completely fall apart when Dad passed away. I thought that I would be paralyzed with emotion and in a constant daze. I didn't think I'd be able to eat or smile for days. But none of that happened. I was obviously upset and cried when I first found out but the crying didn't last long. I went into a small daze, only for a short while. I think I was just in shock. I mean, I knew Dad was sick. Hell, I knew he was dying, but I didn't want to accept it. I guess my emotions are just as torn as my acceptance and knowledge of what was going on. I think sometimes my brain blocks out the reality of what happened and zeros in on how life still goes on. It sounds crass, I know, but I can't help it. I wish I could change it, and that I could cry and cry and stop feeling like a monster. There were a few times that I was talking to someone  and I almost felt like I was faking what happened. Or, at least I felt like they might think I was faking it, and doing a horrible job of it. I just didn't cry a whole lot. I was very matter of fact about things. I said things like, "I'm just really glad he wasn't in pain." Or, "I'm just thankful that we knew it was coming so we could spend time with him and say our good byes and tell him we love him. So many people don't get to do that." And I meant those things, but who says that so calmly and so emotionally void?
I hated it. I still do. In fact, I feel such a wave of relief when I cry in front of people. Sometimes, I feel like my whole goal for the day is to break down, so I can finally grieve and cope. When I do cry it's only for a few minutes and then I am numb and hate myself for not crying more.
One person told me that months after their father had passed that they were making their bed and it hit them. They would never see their father again. I can totally identify with that. And it gives me comfort to know that it took months to hit her. I mean, I know I'll never see him again but life is just so surreal right now. I can't wrap my mind around it. Maybe it will hit me when thanksgiving rolls around and we won't have a fried turkey. Or on Christmas, when he's not there. Or even his birthday, which will feel so empty. I don't know when it will hit me, but I welcome it. I long for the day when it hits me so hard the wind gets knocked out of me.

I Started to Call You

I started to call you, but then I remembered
I almost texted you to see how your day was, but then I remembered
I saw your picture and went to read what you posted, but then I remembered.
I was so excited to tell you about the 100% I got on my test but then I remembered.
Dexter was taking a bath the other night so we were going to Skype you, but then I remembered.
I was going to text you and ask you about someone you knew, but then I remembered.
I got a craving for your beef stroganoff, but then I remembered.
I thought of you while watching a show we both like, but then I remembered.
I almost asked Mom if it was ok to come over since I got a flu shot, but then I remembered.
I went to send you a SnapChat of  the kids dancing, but then I remembered.
I was going to ask you what you wanted for your birthday, but then I remembered.
I wanted to tell you that I love you, and to keep fighting...
But then I remembered that you already won, and that you love me, too.

Eulogy

How do you put into words the kind of man that Bill Goodness is? Husband, Father, TuTu Man, Brother, Uncle, Trooper, Fighter, Mentor, Friend, Christian. He is all those things, yet so are many others. What set him apart from the rest? What about him brought so many of us here today?

Bill is an exceptional example of what we should all strive to be. He loved his wife with a fierceness rarely seen in this world. Kim was the first person he held hands with. The first person he kissed, and loved. She was truly his one and only. He made a wise choice in her, she wasn't just the first person he held hands with, but also the last. Their love for each other is that of a story book. Together, they were "good cop and Mom"

Together, Bill and Kim had raised 3 children. Bill's role as a Father was everything it should have been. He taught them all the life lessons that children need to be taught, even as they stopped being children and turned into adults. He taught them honesty, and hard work; humility, and respect. They saw from what to expect in a husband, and how to act as one. From him they learned self defense. They learned how to be aware of their surroundings, whether that meant on walks to their cars at night, or when they opened cabinets that he had boobie trapped with fireworks. He was their friend when they needed it and the enforcer when it was obvious that a life lesson he had taught just didn't quite sink in. Bill not only taught them how to grow up into amazing people, he showed them through his own actions.

Another one of Bill's roles he played, was one that he took great pride in. Being a Kansas State Trooper. Bill was a Trooper for 21 years. He went from training in the old Troop C building, to high speed car chases through town. Then to the SWAT team and Marijuana Eradication, to teaching self defense. He travelled all over teaching classes to different organizations and groups, and then became Technical Trooper. Of course, while all these things were going on he was playing pranks and using Joe Vagjrts complete lack of technology skills to his own benefit. Because of all these things, Bill has become one of the most well respected Troopers in the State and he was always proud to be a brother in blue.

We could go on all day about the kind of man the Bill was and will continue to be in our minds. Just look around, the sheer number of people here attests to the kind of man that he was. And to each of us he was a different mixture of things mentioned before. As we move on today and celebrate Bill's life, we should remember what he was to us as individuals, and try to carry on whatever it was that he left with us and brought us all here today.

The Bond That Breaks and Fulfills My Heart.

Since arriving in Little Rock my family has been through every emotion. I will honestly say that I was not prepared for what I saw that first night.  I came down to see my Dad but when I got to his room I found a stranger in his bed, surrounded by our family. A few short minutes after I arrived they needed to have us all leave the room so they could change his bedding. That gave me a few minutes to step away from everyone to collect myself and not try to be strong in front of my Dad. I just remember thinking, "That's not my Dad." over and over. It was just so surreal. I knew things had gotten bad. I had already been wrestling with the fact that all the bad news I got and being told things like "they're just trying to make him comfortable" and "to give us quality time together" meant that we were facing the worst situation possible. I can't bring myself to say what all of that actually meant, but you get it. And even though I knew what all those cues were, I still wasn't ready for what I saw. Taylor had told me that dealing with him would be comparable to a wasted 3 year old. Even that didn't get through to me, but she was exactly right. We had to treat Dad like a child. Tell him not to pull out his IV's, or his other various chords. He would continuously ask for Dexter even though I had told him several times I didn't bring him with me. My heart broke each time he asked. Seeing him so forgetful was startling. He never quite grasped the fact that Dexter wasn't with me. Part of the reason it broke my heart was because I started to feel like maybe if I had brought him then my Dad would bounce back. You hear stories of Alzheimers patients who won't remember who anyone is and then all the sudden the incredible love that they have for someone will stir up feelings and memories that seemed lost forever. I felt like maybe Dexter could have brought that out of him, that he would be him again even if only for a few minutes and it would be driven by the unconditional love of a grandparent. I felt so guilty for not bringing him. For not letting my Dad have one more moment with his grandson. For not giving my son another moment with his TuTu man.

There are a lot of things that have broken me down. Lots. Most of them I have gotten somewhat of a hold on and can start to deal with them without just completely losing it. But not when it comes to my son.

I remember a few years ago I dated this guy who never wanted to get married or have kids. For whatever reason, I started convincing myself that if I were with him, I could be ok with never being married or having kids. I just loved him, so I'd give those things up. (The thought now is so mushy and disgusting it makes me gag) But not long after I began accepting those things, I saw a picture of one of my friends kids holding an umbrella in the rain. Except, it wasn't rain. My Dad had put the sprinkler on top of the garage to make it "rain" outside. I guess Addy had really wanted to play in the rain that day so my Dad made it happen. I knew right then that I couldn't go the rest of my life without seeing my Dad have those moments with kids that I would one day have. My Dad loves kids, probably because he's still a kid himself. I envisioned myself screaming after opening doors and cabinets that Dad had taught my kids to booby trap. Seeing my Dad play catch with them. Seeing him and my Mom sitting in fold up chairs at their sports games. And finally I had a vision of him holding a baby in his arms. I knew that my kids and Dad would be best friends.

Ever since Dad got sick I have had this fear in the back of my mind that I try not to address because I want to be positive and not spread negative energy. It's hard to even say now because I just don't want to come to terms with how bad things are. But I have always been so scared that Dad would too sick to do things with Dexter before he was old enough to remember them. Or, even worse, the thing that I fear the most, is Dad being gone before Dexter is old enough to remember him. This week I keep breaking down because all the things I'm afraid of are becoming a reality. Dad is starting to move in the right direction, but he has a VERY long way to go. And with all the things that are starting to head in the right direction in terms of his heart rate and breathing, etc, the Myeloma is still raging war on his body. That's not getting any better. There's no hope for a second remission. There's only hope for a little bit of quality time. With the realization of that comes the knowledge that Dad will not be with Dexter when he has his first Cozy burger. He won't be there for Dexter's first baseball game, or take Dexter out on his first fishing trip.

Luckily, there are a lot of things that Dexter did get to do with my Dad. He was held by him on the day he was born, just like I had visioned. He rode around in his first tricycle while Dad pushed him. He got to have Dad push him on his swing. Eat cotton candy and drink limeades from Sonic while I was gone. They had so many beautiful moments together that, luckily, I have pictures and videos of. It just breaks my heart that his memory of my Dad will be reduced to pictures, videos and stories. He will be told of the relationship that they had instead of getting to experience it and continue to build that bond. He will get to hear his sisters tell about their memories, but won't get to share any himself. My heart aches at the thought of it.

Even though I truly feel like my heart is shattering as I think about it, I do thank God for the bond that they have. They both love each other dearly. Dad lights up every time he sees Dexter and Dexter does every time he sees Dad. It's such a heart warming thing to see.

With Questions, Come Answers.

Lately the phone calls I've been getting from my Mom are sounding more and more like the nightly news. They're bad news for the most part and from time to time there might be mildly good news or a heart warming story. But those are all few and far between.
The first phone call was to tell me that the trial didn't work. That it was time for plan b. The next one was that Dad was having a hard time breathing and he had been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance. That was followed by the update that he had gotten a staph infection...AND strep. In his blood system. Most recently, it was that he wasn't making any sense. He had progressively gotten worse throughout the day and that the doctors had no idea why.
Obviously, I had questions, and I even started to ask one, but I knew. I knew Mom didn't know the cause of it. I knew if she had any idea or if the doctors had said anything that she would tell me. There was no point in asking. It's bothersome knowing that there are questions that go unanswered. Sometimes for a few days or weeks, and sometimes indefinitely.
What's more bothersome than those questions is the one I don't ask because I'm scared to. I would suppose that if you were to be sitting with me hearing every word my Mom relays you would know what to take from what she said. You would know what she was getting at. But I can't do that. I can't just deduce that this is it. I can't just assume that this is our last Thanksgiving. Or our last Christmas. That Dexter is the last grandchild that my Dad will hold in his arms. That my sister's wedding was the last one where my Dad would get to see his child get married. And maybe that's not what's going on at all. Maybe we're all holding on for an answer. Maybe the doctors are just trying to make him comfortable until the next trial comes around. It's just a total mind trip. I don't know how to respond emotionally because I don't know what's going on. It might be that I'm just not willing to accept what no one wants to hear or say. Or it might be that I'm just freaking out too much and being too negative.
Either way I won't ask. As a child, how do you find the strength to ask a question like that? And even more importantly, how do you find the strength to cope with the answer? And it's not just me in this situation. If I'm asking a question then there's a person answering it. My Mom. Being a Mom and a wife myself, I have to put myself in her shoes to understand the depth of this situation. Even if I were prepare myself, and ready myself to ask and to hear, how do I put my Mom in that situation. As a mother, how do you find the words to tell your child that their father might not make it to see their next child. How do you find the words to tell yourself that as a wife? Hell, for all I know my Mom might be in the same situation as I am. Maybe she doesn't even know. Maybe she's afraid to ask. Holding on to the faith of a miracle and putting off the reality that's looming at a dangerous distance.
I guess that's it. I'm holding on to a hope that something will happen. That God will do a divine intervention and show everyone that He's been here this entire time, just waiting for the moment that He knew would come. And that moment would be to heal my Father. It could happen. And I pray every day that it does. Every single day, multiple times. But I'm just so scared that my faith will make me a fool, and that I'll find myself blindsided by this and that everyone else will have known that it was coming. But I didn't because I hoped too much. I don't want to be blindsided, but I don't want to ask either. Cancer is such an asshole.