Miss him?

I came home from volunteering at Kaiser Hospital today. My mom was talking to my older sister about going to Temple. I looked at her and she looked as if she had just been crying. I eavesdropped a little and heard my mom saying something about missing my dad. My sister asked if my mom missed my dad. She said something along the lines of: "Yes, more than anyone will ever know."

Do I miss him? Yes. More than anyone will know too. Everything around me reminds me of him-whether it be a good thing or a bad thing. It's like going through a bad break up except for the fact that time will probably never heal the wound-it will just make it easier to deal with. When you lose a parent 16 days before your 17th birthday and months before your graduation, you cannot heal. You just can't.

"the Incident" happened on October 30th, 2009. I was half asleep around 12am when I heard him run to the bathroom and vomit. I thought it was nothing. Honestly, I thought he was doing it for attention. He was so loud, I remember throwing the covers over my head to block out the sound of his gags.

I don't even remember hearing my mom get up but around 2am, she came into my room and told me to call 911. She said dad wasn't waking up. I went over to his room and tried to shake him awake. I called out his name and shook him vigorously-nothing. He wasn't waking up, but he was...snoring. How odd, I thought. I honestly wasn't panicking at all. I thought, once again, he was doing it for the attention. How ignorant I was.

I dialed and spoke to them. About 5 minutes later, the ambulance arrived and carried him out. As they carried him out, his fingers moved but he didn't wake up. I scoffed to myself and thought, "Wow... what an attention whore." How ignorant I was. They took him away and I went back to sleep.

Around 6am, my mom called me and told me to come to the emergency room at Kaiser hospital. She also said my dad wasn't gonna make it. I assured her he was fine. She told me he had a stroke in his head. I told her he'd be fine. I drove to the hospital and went into his room. He was unconscious-he had been since the early eyes of the morning. Another ambulance truck came and transported him to Valley Medical center. I drove my mom home so she could get her car and drive to Valley Medical. When we got home, I went into my sisters room and sobbed quietly to myself. My mom went upstairs to his room to get some clothes. I heard her sobs. She was crying uncontrollably. I went upstairs to comfort her. I held her in my arms as she cried immensely. We switched roles at that moment. I was the mother and she was the helpless daughter with deep emotional problems. At that moment, I knew I had to be strong for her- show her that everything was going to be okay.

She drove to the hospital and I drove to school to be excused for that day. I then drove to the hospital after talking to some teachers. In his hospital room, machines were everywhere; beeping and hissing noises; tubes sucking blood out of his brain through his nose. He had suffered a Hemorrhagic Stroke. He laid in the hospital for 3 days. During those three days, poeple came in and out of his room. Prayers were being chanted and people were crying. Our family and friends crowded the visitor lobby at every point in the day. People would come to me and hug me. We discussed the next steps. I talked to the doctors and asked them what would be possible at this point. The doctor said to me, "Honestly, we didn't really do anything to help. It's a little too late." Her words still ring in my ears today. They didn't do anything? They weren't going to even try? He may be close to death, but shouldn't they do SOMETHING to keep him further from death? I was furious.

After talking with my family, they decided to let him off the life support. Even if they had saved him, he would become a vegetable and would require 24 hour care. This would be extremely difficult for my family and extremely costly too. I remember going into his room, sitting by his bed, holding his hand, and talking to him. I would talk to him and he would squeeze my hand. His feet would move and his heartbeat would rise a bit.

I apologized to him for all the bad things I had done to him, for all the times I told myself I hated him, for all the times I disowned him, for all the times I disappointed him, for all the times I was a horrible daughter, for all the times I didn't succeed. I told him I loved him and I would always love him. Those were my last.

On November 2, 2009, They took out the life support. The room was filled with family and friends. We stood there and prayed as the beeping of the heart machine slowed down and came to a stop. He was done. Over. Gone. It was surreal to me. It played out like a movie; things like that shouldn't happen to a family like mine-it shouldn't happen to anyone.

His funeral viewing was that weekend. His cremation was on Monday. I went to school the following day. This is where the story ends-or at least where it should. Unfortunately, it doesn't. My story about this continues. This is the first time I have ever articulated the whole incident with moderate detail.

She speaks.