Robbed

Just the title of Robbed and I had to pause just then as even typing out those words floods me with tears and I catch my breath. He raised me. He was my dad. My son's middle name is after him: Patrick. I felt so robbed as I had all these amazing plans for him to teach my son how to go fishing and camping like he taught me.

He collapsed Dec 4th, 2017. My mom called from next to him in the ambulance and I jokingly said to "stop being a little shit and quit giving mom such a heard time." She is always exaggerating and he was always the trickster. "This is serious Jess," she said quietly to me. His oxygen levels were at 10% and his hemoglobin was 32, not that I know what any of that means, but do know I have a hard time breathing at 80% oxygen.

I called the small town hospital where my parents live, expecting my mom to have been a little over the top on the seriousness of the situation. Dr Claire advises: "You should really get here, now." I explained that I live in Edmonton and it was a 14 hour drive. And her response, Ill never forget, was "They have planes in Edmonton? Id recommend getting on the next flight."

I remember it vividly. Seeing him in such a bad state when we arrived that night, not being certain if he would pull through, knowing that a nurses sat on either side of him in the ambulance, literally pushing someone elses blood into his veins in an effort to save his life. He ended up with 11 units of blood in 48 hours: an entire body worth of blood.

2 months prior, he had fractured the lower vertebrae in his spine while walking from the livingroom to the kitchen. No one told us then that he had cancer, just that he was older and so must have weakened bones. They put him on Naproxen, but when youre already in a lesser state and not eating much, it allowed the naproxen to eat through his stomach lining, and left him bleeding internally for 6 weeks, resulting in his collapse 2 years ago.

Multiple Myeloma, Severe Emphysema, Severe COPD, spots on his lungs, bleeding internally, 2 bouts of pneumonia while in the hospital, one of which caused severe hallucinations leading to several fractured ribs when he fell out of bed trying to catch a puppy that didnt exist.

He lived 4 months, against everyones beliefs. He began walking again in January 2018 and we were thrilled that he would be able to come home, but that wasnt the case. He stopped eating, the treatments took away all appetite and made it difficult to swallow. I overheard one nurse say "he's a stubborn old bugger" as he was so thin, he defied all odds by lasting as long as he did.

I flew out every month. Drove down for Easter and signed his DNR while hospitalizing my mom for Suicidal Ideation.

It is easily the hardest part of my life that I have ever dealt with thus far, including the PPD that hit me so hard just after my son was born.

Im not sure why Im rattling off all of that to you, a group of strangers. But we really are all connected, we have all been right there, experiencing such heartache it feels as if it is being torn from our chest only to leave an empty, gaping nothingness. Thoughts of my dad teaching my son to fish, to paint, to play racing games.... they bring up such emotion, a tidal wave of tears erupting in sorrow and remembrance of the joy of times before his collapse.

Im now a blubbering mess and have to get ready for work, my keyboard is soaked in tears.

To love so hard ultimately is to experience such grieve and loss, but what a glorious feeling love is. I wish everyone peace, gratitude, and joy when they think of the person that has left them, for that is what they remember of you.