Helpless

Life.

You're throwing us a curveball again...and I hate it.

Pain and suffering is a very real, and apparently neccessary, part of life.

I am so very helpless in this moment. I want to take my dad, rip out all the cords and machines and have him take me for a ride in Mr. Jeep, which sits so very lonely right now in a meticulously kept new garage.

In this, my parents' new home, my dad is everywhere...from the anal "north" and "south" descpriptors above the garage door openers to his glasses sitting here next to the computer. The picture of him and I on my wedding day in his room drives a dagger into my heart each time I look at it.

So why do I keep looking at it?

Because I don't know what else to do. Because I'm bewildered and unbelieving. Because I'm scared out of my mind.

I'm scared of not having my dad. I'm scared of my brothers not having their dad. I'm scared for my mom to lose her best friend of over 35 years.

They say he's out of pain now that he's completely unresponsive, but I know he suffered such great pain for at least 24 hours before they could start helping him with drugs for the pain. I can't tolerate that thought. I hear him in my head over and over, "Jame, your 'old' dad is pretty tough and can handle it."

But I never wanted him to hurt.

And at 56, he is so very not "old." And this is so unfair. And none of us are ready.

And even though we've already gone against his wishes once and put him on life support today until my brother could get here, at least for the time being, we are faced with no right answers. There is no "win-win" here. It's simply trying to weigh our own selfishness and fright of a world without him (along with tiny, probably meaningless glimmers of hope) against his personal wishes.

How can any of us be okay with just letting him go? It is against ever fiber of our being to stop fighting for him.

Even though the stroke robbed him of his ability to speak, he told me he loved me last night in so many ways. I am so grateful for that time, many people don't even get that...including my middle brother. He was robbed of an "official" last few moments with our real dad, not just the one lying akwardly in an ICU bed with a machine pumping air into him. It seems as though our real dad left us this afternoon and my subconsious is playing mean tricks on me as it tries to find him anywhere, in that bed, in this house, in my memories that won't stop flooding my head.

I am angry with this situation. I am angry with arrogant health professionals, confused direction, and the magic stroke drug that really helps 30% of stroke victims if administered in the first 3 hours. Why couldn't dad be in that 30%. Why is it that when there's a slim chance of anything else, like Down syndrome or atlanto-axial instability or allergies or whatever...we can win the freaking lottery. But when we're praying to be included in that 30% it's just too much to ask.

My mom, a constant source of inspiration for me since I can remember, has been amazing. She didn't ask for any of this, and she has responded instictively and intelligently from dad's first slump in the chair to tonight - when at 2:00 in the morning, her now somewhat distraught daughter who up to this point has held it together as best she could, calls her irrationally hoping that dad woke up to say, "Hahaha, I sure got Jame good with this one. Let's go home!" She tells me to sleep, always the mom protecting her "young" even though she knows me well enough to know it's a futile attempt.

I am grateful for my dad's wonderful nurses and Dr. Roller, a neurologist whom my mom feels she can trust. I am grateful for the amazing support of our "circle" of friends and family. I am grateful that we all can be here for my mom, and for my dad, and I know he feels our love enveloping him. I am grateful for an amazing husband who just handles life for me when I absolutely need to check out. I am grateful for the 32 amazing years I had with my dad, and am feeling guilty that I'm the oldest kid to be able to have those extra years...hours...minutes with my dad that my brothers didn't.

I am grateful that I was given the gift to be "his lit-tul girl."

I just want one more hug. One more kiss from him on my cheek. I just want one more "I love you."

I just want to wake up from this nightmare and for this state of complete helplessness to go away.

I love you, dad. Besides expletives, it is the only thing I hear in my head over and over and over.
I love you, dad.
I love you, dad.
I just so love you...