On Nov. 2, 1980, my father was admitted into Porter Hospital in Denver, CO with yet another heart attack. He had already survived quite a few other heart attacks, 4 emergency bypass surgeries, a stroke that left him paralyzed on the left side of his body, and a hernia to add insult to injury.
The decision to try for a 5th surgery or take a bow, unplug the machines, and fade away was talked about with family members and my father, although he was barely able to communicate. I was led into a room with a priest and someone else (I heard later it might have been a visiting rabbi - why, I do not know) and was asked for my opinions on the matter. Being 10 years old and asked whether or not I wanted my dad alive or dead just sucks. Trust me. I guess I mumbled something along the lines of him not being in pain anymore, and then I left and went to the waiting room.
My mom came and got me about 20 minutes later and we went home.
At around 2 a.m., Nov. 3, the phone rang.
Funny how time affects the feelings. I didn’t even realize what today was until my wife called me to see how I was doing. The pain of loss faded many many years ago, now there is just the occasional ache of what “could have been.”
OK, I lie. The pain of loss is still there. It is just easier to hide now. Damn tears.
-Tcat