idlycandid

[idlycandid]

april 12th, 2022 pt. 1

i'm sitting up close to midnight, with tears welled up behind my eyes recalling my last memories of the man who called me daughter, whose last name is a well-worn gift i never liked... after battling small cell carcinoma that spread like wildfire through his body, i showed up daily to a house in squalor, delivering grilled chicken joy wrapped in a Whataburger wrapper (the only thing he'd eat; and it was worth it to see his face light up with a smile), trying to clean around him, i bought fresh sheets and a nice blanket to make him feel cozy, watched the man who raised me slowly become helpless against the tumors in his brain and grasped desperately at any sage wisdom i could despite his aphasia-riddled speech. this routine went on for a month & a half. at the sound of my overwhelm & distress, his younger brother & sister-in-law stepped in to help, gathered his important belongings & made him a bed to spend the time he had left in their home on a small farm, an hour & a half west. despite his battle he never gave up the vice that caused it, so in the morning he woke up asked to sit outside on their porch to smoke and when he was done, attempted to stand up to return inside only to black out. when this happened, it became apparent that in-home hospice was not only a good idea but an absolute necessity for whatever was to come next in his care. through some very urgent phone calls made by my cousin, i was able to get a same-day appointment set up to meet the hospice worker at their home to ensure he had coverage. i left work early

[idlycandid]

april 12th, 2022 pt. 2

i had walked into their house plenty of times before, it was modest, tidy, warm, and inviting. my uncle led me to their back bedroom they set up for him and curled up on the bed, under the brand new cozy throw blanket i bought for him, my dad laid on his side, like a little kid, watching an old Western television show from the 1950s, "Cheyenne". my best friend and i sat in the back bedroom with him on folding chairs, as he tried to tell us about the show we were watching. my uncle shared with us that he loved watching this particular show as a kid. during a commercial break, my aunt mentions to me in a hushed tone, "I had other bedding on the bed, but he kicked all the other blankets off--he only wants the blanket you bought for him." in the moment, this sentiment makes me cry (and even now), because somewhere in the swell of my ribcage, i know that the version of my dad i'm seeing on this afternoon is a helpless, tired, scared child and the adult in me, his youngest daughter, managed to unknowingly provide a sense of comfort, of safety. a feeling he rarely felt throughout his life, if ever. i walk back into the room and see him snuggle a little further down under the blanket. he looks up at me and asks if he can stay. i don't fully understand him the first time he says it, and as he struggles through the words a second time, i'm confused as to why he's asking and respond with, "of course you can stay, that's why you're here. you can stay for as long as you'd like." he nods his head... it's only moments after this exchange i realize he's asking because he's afraid of being forced to go to the hospital; my aunt makes meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and canned green beans (soft, easy-to-eat foods) for dinner. my best friend and i eat off paper plates on the folded chairs in the back bedroom while we try to follow the plot of "Cheyenne" each taking a chance to keep an eye on and talk with my dad as normally as possible in between bites. eventually, the hospice intake worker arrives... i let my dad know that we'll be right back & reassure him he isn't going anywhere, then join my aunt, uncle, cousin, best friend, and hospice intake worker around their dining room table to fill out paperwork. she has to ask my dad a few questions, one of which is the date.. he confidently answers that he knows exactly what the day is, and exclaims a day in February of 2020 (the date is April 12th, 2022). she asks who the President of the United States is and he says, "Trump" (it's Joe Biden). this shows that he does not have full awareness of reality and therefore, i'm able to make decisions on his behalf. we finish the paperwork around 7pm. the hospice intake worker assures me that she will get all of his paperwork submitted before the end of the night so he will be covered for in-home care. we say our goodbyes, i thank her for her time, i go back into the bedroom and say goodbye to my dad, that i love him & that i'll be going back home the day after tomorrow. i hug my aunt, my uncle and my cousin (their youngest daughter) for everything they're doing, express all of my love & gratitude, and let them know my plans to travel back home; after all, he's set up now and i've been away from home for a month and a half. when we finally arrive back at my best friend's house, i fall asleep quickly in their guest room... faster than i have in weeks. so when i awake the next morning to what i believe is my alarm at 6am, i'm jarred awake. my phone is ringing & it's a call from my aunt. i answer immediately... "honey, he didn't wait for one of us to come to help him stand up this morning. he stood up and immediately hit the floor. he's gone. we're calling to have someone come get him, can you get here?" i left within 30 minutes... his body was taken just before i arrived. i apologized to my uncle what he's just experienced,his response was, "the upside is, tumor rupture was immediate, he went quickly, so he didn't feel a thing." the easiest experience in my dad's seventy-three years of life was at the moment of his death.

[idlycandid]

new years eve. it's december 31st, 2023. a year ago today, i was in an airport, sitting next to a husband i no longer have (divorced, not deceased) traveling back from california, after visiting in-laws for the holidays. once we made it home, the only solitary memory i still hold of the two of us, was celebrating by opening all the windows to our small apartment, letting in the freezing air & laughing together as we ran around, struggling to keep the sage bundle lit... that may have been the last time we sincerely laughed together. there's no highlight reel to post, highlight reels uphold a facade that our lives are made up of a perfect montage of moments, and that only the perfect moments, the easy-to-digest ones are worth remembering. in full transparency though, my dear denizen of the internet, 2023 was a bitch of a year... i disrupted the plot of my relatively stable life, became a shade of morally chartreuse that forced some very uncomfortable, clearly required main character development. and Doti (denizen of the internet. don't worry, we'll get there with the terms of endearment), don't let anyone fool you... becoming the source of disruption in your own life is not for the faint of heart. it's a large inhale with an anxious heart before saying words you know are going to shatter someone's world, unwielding the structure of the life plans they've built around you. it's understanding that long after you've had the conversations, the fights, packed the boxes & hugged goodbye, there will always be a tinge of tear-stained, sepia-toned nostalgia veiling the mental image of the life you opted out of. a hiraeth ache in your heart for a place you'll never know. 2023 was a year of long goodbyes and dehydration-causing crying sessions, but then... there were the first ones to read this. the people who followed a link, posted somewhere on a social media account. the people who encouraged me to keep moving one step at a time, formed an emotional army behind me as i stood up for myself, gave advice at length, helped me move, took me in, let me cry on your shoulders, in your arms, in your cars, on your beds, at inopportune times & at the drop of a hat, hyped me up & held my hand, distracted me with road trips & concerts, kissed my forehead, encouraged my creativity, bought me breakfast, helped me fight the shadows of internalized shame, made me laugh through tears until my face hurt, made space for my anger, and reminded that i'm worthy of love if for no other reason than that i exist. my chosen family... the actual highlight reel of my year. remember as this arbitrary marker of date comes to an end, there's more to a life than the moments we're told to cherish, the ones that end up in picture frames, the snapshots from holidays, the "milestones" we all seek but are never taught how to properly care for once obtained. one could even argue that the quality of a life, a year, a relationship... is about the moments in between, the ones that make us cringe a little (or a lot), and the unexpected love that grows like moss along the forgotten side of an unattended building. while letting go of people* i couldn't imagine my life without a year ago, i found the moss. *and if you happen to be one of these people, please know some part of me will always unconditionally love some part of you & if you haven't yet, i hope you find your moss in 2024. happy new year, Doti. thank you for closing this chapter with me.