This is my dad in better days...Christmas morning 2003
I am not a blogger in any way. I know people blog for all kinds of reasons. And although I don't blog often, when I do, I blog as a form of therapy. I don't have a therapist of my own, although I could probably use one :), so I blog instead. I use my blog to share thoughts that I've had or have been having for my own personal self. Not for anyone else. So if you by chance open this up and aren't up to reading my melancholy thoughts, please just close this right now! Because today I am on one, and I need to vent to someone or something...so my blog is it.
This morning I woke up to the alarm at 6:20, which is when it is set during the week so Alyssa will get her butt out of bed for school. Well today the kids are out of school for Christmas vacation. So after I got up for a minute I decided to go back to bed for just a little while. And even though I went to bed last night really early and had already had a lot of sleep, falling back to sleep was not a problem. After I fell back asleep I had the most vivid dream. A bittersweet dream that brought the events of 8 months ago back to reality. I knew I was going to have a hard day, even without that dream, but as soon as I woke up this morning I was in tears. Some days I wonder how I will make it through the day...
My dream was this...I was in a crowd, like at a football game, with my sisters, brother in law Dan, my Mom, Dad, Alyssa and Shaylee. When the dream first started I was at the bottom of the bleachers and my family was up at the top. As I looked up I noticed my dad was standing up toward the top of the bleachers, and I could tell that he was distressed. He was anxious about being in the crowd, and he was hallucinating that "they were coming to get him". I made my way up the stairs so I could get to my father and comfort him. Dreams are weird and they are ever changing. So the next thing I remember was that my sister Paula, and her husband Dan, and my mom had gone to find a way through a hole in the ceiling to crawl over the rafters from one building to the next in order to get to a restaurant that we wanted to go have brunch at. Because the others had left the football game I took my dad into a back room where he would be out of the crowd. As we were standing there he got light headed and passed out, and as he fell he pinned my sister Brenda up against some cabinets. I eased him off of her and gently laid him on the ground. I thought at that moment that he was dead. As I sat on the floor cradling his head in my lap, he opened one eye and told me everything was okay. He told me that he loved me and that he was proud of me, and then he closed his eye. Again I thought he was dead, but again he opened one eye and then I told him as I stroked his cheek how much I loved him, how proud I was of him, and how he was the best dad anyone could ever hope for, and then he closed his eye and he was gone. That was it...my dream in a nut shell. I relived the worst day of my life over this morning in the form of a dream.
Eight months ago today I lost my dad. Eight months of missing him more than I could ever imagine missing someone. Eight months of silence, and emptiness. Friends I loved my dad as much as anyone could ever be loved. From the time I was aware of what it meant to be a hero, my dad was mine. He was a worrier by nature, and he worried about his family plenty. But we knew because of that how much he loved us and cared for each one of us. His most prized possession was his family. He always used to say that he was the richest man on earth...because his family meant more to him than anything. And we all knew it.
My dad was very sick for a very long time. For years the doctors diagnosed him with severe depression and anxiety. Which for a person, and their family, who has that diagnosis is a very lonely thing. Depression is so misunderstood, and there is such a stigma with depression. People just don't know how to respond or what to say when you tell them that your dad is severely depressed. It got to a point where I just didn't tell anyone.
Two years ago, at Christmas time, my dad's illness got really bad. The medications he was on (which were many) didn't seem to help at all. Nothing worked. In January it became necessary for my mom to admit my dad into a treatment center. He was so afraid of being alone and my mom had to go to work during the day. So the treatment center it was. I don't remember the specifics of everything, but first he was in a place called the Marion center where he spent about 2 months, then he was put upstairs in a rehab unit, where they ignored him the whole day and any progress he made at the Marion Center went out the window within days of being at the rehab center. It was awful to watch him suffer so. My mom finally pulled him out of that place and he went to the University of Utah mental health place called Uni. There he had electric shock treatment done. Which in the beginning seemed like it might have worked, and we had a little bit of hope. From there he went to a rehab place called Avalon. When I would visit him there I had glimpses of my old dad. He seemed to be getting better. But then something awful happened at that place and my dad watched as his room mate died right in front of his eyes. It was so upsetting for my dad. The fear and anxiety set back in. He was dizzy when he would stand up, so he had a fear of walking, and of falling. One day he was coming back to his room from having lunch and he fell and broke his nose, so he had to take a trip to the emergerncy room that day (Father's Day 2008). Dad would lose blood pressure when he would stand up, which was causing him to get light headed and dizzy. No wonder he had a fear of falling!
He was able to come home for a while after Avalon. My sisters and I took turns going out to stay with him during the summer that year, and after the kids started back to school. In September/October I was able to have him come and stay with me for a week while my mom went on a trip. He was very sick, but I was so happy to have him in my home, which was the last time he was here. I am haunted by some of the things that he said to me as I cared for him. But he also told me a story about when he was growing up that I had never heard before, and on those rare occasions that my "real dad" would resurface, I would feel such joy. How I missed my dad, the one who told stories, and loved having his family around. We had for the most part lost that person the winter of 2007.
During that fall and winter while my dad was home he started to hallucinate things, and spirits, and thought that "they were coming to get him". He was afraid of everything. He couldn't eat or drink (the smell bothered him tremendously), and he thought that everything we tried to feed him was blood or urine. It was so upsetting. He lost a lot of weight that year during his stay in the centers, and while he was home. In January of this year my mom took him and admitted him to the VA hospital's mental health unit. While he was there we received the diagnosis that my dad had Parkinson's disease, and that he was in the advanced stages of the disease. All this time he had been being treated for depression, which is a symptom of Parkinson's, and he really had Parkinson's. I can't tell you how angry I was. My dad slipped through the cracks of the medical profession, as so many people do. Why didn't anyone listen to him? Why didn't anyone diagnose him properly years before? With a proper diagnosis, and the correct medication (instead of the mulitude of medications he was on which had numerous other side effects, and masked his true symptoms), what might his final couple of years been like? As soon as I told my friends and family members about the Parkinson's disease diagnosis it was a whole new response...people can give you comfort for that disease...just not for the disease of depression. Why is that? They are both awful and debilitating.
The last of March or the first part of April my dad was able to come home. I remember having some hope on one visit where my dad sat and talked with his friend Gerry. But then the next visit being so discouraged at his decline. I started to go sit with him again during the day while my mom was at work. One day in early April my mom said that she had been reading the hospice book and that she thought my dad was only going to be with us for a few more weeks. She said that he was exhibiting the signs of someone who is dying. I told her that he would probably rally and be just fine. She was convinced otherwise. He stopped eating and drinking all together. He refused all of his medication. We were all so worried about him. On April 8th I went with my husband out to see my mom and dad. When I got to their house my mom was not home, she had stepped out for a minute to see her neighbor. My dad was up on his bed, and he had stripped out of his clothes because he had wet himself, he was so weak and couldn't make it to the bathroom by himself. He was worried about my mom getting mad at him :), and was trying to change his clothes before she got home. So I helped him into the shower and washed him off. I am haunted by those images of my dad's skeletal frame, a man who as long as I can remember, was overweight. He was losing weight at an alarming pace, and at that time he was literally skin and bones. No matter what, food was never my dad's friend. Ironically it was malnutrition and dehydration that finally took my dad's life. After I got him out of the shower I got him dressed and Lor and I helped him down the stairs to the kitchen. I asked him if he could eat something and he agreed to have some clam chowder, which he ate most of the bowl, and that was the last meal he ate. One of the signs of someone dying is a burst of energy a short time before they die, and I believe that was my dad's burst of energy.
We have a tradition in our family of having an Easter egg hunt with the grand kids. This year in April it was no different and we all gathered for our annual egg hunt. It was a sad day because we knew my dad wasn't going to be with us much longer. In some ways it seemed wrong to be downstairs having a party as my dad was upstairs wasting away. After the kids found their eggs, the adults gathered in the living room and reminisced about my dad. It was so important to me to get a family picture that day, and I told my family that I thought we should do it. My brother Daniel said that he didn't want to take a picture because he didn't want to remember my dad like that. A few others expressed to me that they didn't think it was possible. I told them that I thought we should at least try. I went upstairs and I leaned over to my dad and I told him that I really wanted to have a family picture taken because Jeff was moving to Texas in a couple of weeks and that would be the last time that we would be together for a while. He didn't say no, so I was encouraged. I had my sisters gather the children to the front yard, I ran over next door and asked Larry Burton if he would come over and take some pictures, and then Lor, Scott, Daniel, Dan and Eric carried my dad down stairs and out the front door where we sat him on a chair on the front porch. I don't know about any of you, but it always seems to me that family pictures NEVER go as you envision they will. Someone is always mad, or crying, or the kids don't cooperate. Well on that day, 9 days before my dad's death, Heavenly Father made it possible for us to get a family picture. It was so painless, and went so smooth. The kids cooperated, and no one cried. I know it was a picture that was meant to be taken! Within a matter of minutes Larry and Ann (Larry's daughter in law) had snapped several pictures, and my dad was carried back up to his bed. Our last family picture together is a treasure that we all cherish.
The last couple of weeks of my dad's life I went out to his house almost every day. I wanted to spend as much time as I could with him before he died. Some days he didn't want anyone in the room with him. And most of the time I was there he would call down the stairs "Shauna", I would go up and he would say "just checking to see if you're still here, you can go now". My sister Brenda asked me why I was going there everyday because it didn't do any good. He wasn't eating, getting out of bed, didn't want your help, or your company. I told her that I went because I didn't want my dad to die all alone while my mom was at work, and I was going for myself because I needed that time with him. Most of my siblings avoided going up to his room during that last little while. It was very painful to see him in such agony. I took the other approach and bugged the heck out of my dad. Some times when he would tell me I could go now, I would just say tough, that I wanted to sit with him. Even with all that bugging, I still regret not asking him enough questions, or not telling him certain things.
On Sunday, April 19th, we had gone out to my parent's house with the kids. Paula and Dan were there with their family, and Brenda and Eric were there also. Scott and Fedra arrived sometime during the day. It was very apparent that day that my dad had only a matter of a couple of days left to live, or possibly even that very day. I called my son Jeff and told him to come and say good-bye to grandpa, and I called Daniel and told him that he better come out also, that it didn't look good. Everyone was there, and we were all very sad. Toward evening my aunt Ruth called (my dad's little sister). I answered the phone and she asked how my dad was doing. I told her that we thought he had a very short time left. She said that she wanted to come out to see him but that my mom had told her that it wouldn't do any good because my dad would just tell her to go away. I told my aunt Ruth that he probably would, but that I just ignore him when he says that and talk to him quietly and usually without fail he will settle down and let you visit. I told her that I thought she should come out, not for my dad, but for herself. She and my uncle Cal arrived a short time later. I know that must have meant a lot to my dad to be able to see his sister one last time, he really loved her and my Uncle Cal. There were a lot of teary farewells around my dad's bedside that night. Before everyone departed for the evening we knelt in front of my dad's bed and I offered a family prayer. I thanked Heavenly Father for allowing us the gift of my dad in our lives. I asked for comfort and peace for my dad. I don't know what all I said, but I remember feeling such gratitude to my Heavenly Father for such a beautiful family, and for such a wonderful Father. The last thing I said to my dad that night, was "good night dad, I love you". To which he replied "good night". Those were the last words I heard my dad say.
The next morning I arrived back out at my parents house. Scott was already there, and my mom said that morning my dad had called out to his mother, and had called Scott, George (dad's brother). By the time I got there my dad had slipped into a coma, with one unseeing eye slightly open. Sometime during the day we put on a c.d. for my dad, of my grandpa Chappell telling a story about some Indians in Lyman. All the family was back together by that evening. Scott and Daniel laid their hands on my dad's head and gave him a beautiful blessing and released him from this life. My brother's and sister's and I decided we wanted to spend the night, so our spouses left and took our kids home. We had chairs situated around my dad's bed, where we sat and reminisced. Scott and Daniel each had a 2 liter of caffeinated soda to get them through the long night ahead. We laughed and cried all night long and it was such a beautiful bonding experience with my brother's and sister's that I will never forget and that I will forever cherish. My brother Dan is hilarious, and between him, and Scott and our delirium for having not slept well we were able to have some much needed comic relief to the whole situation. I'm sure my dad could feel the love in the room that we had for each other and for him. About 4 in the morning we decided to get some sleep. Scott and Dan went down on the living room floor, Paula and Brenda were in the bedroom downstairs, and I curled up at my dad's side. At this point my dad's breathing was very heavy and labored and he had that "death rattle" also. Sometimes he was very quiet and I would lean over to check to see if he was still breathing. Scott came up to check on my dad about 7 or so, and at that time he took over the watch. We traded places and I went down to the living room to get a couple hours of sleep.
When everyone woke up we took up our places at my dad's side. We each had a chance to tell him how much we loved him and how much he meant to us. During the 2 and half days of our sitting at his side I was curled up next to him a good part of the time. Dad's breathing was so labored that morning, and we all knew that would be the day we would lose him. How do I adequately describe the feeling that presided in my dad's bedroom that morning? It's impossible to do, but there was such a peaceful, spiritual, calming feeling and I know Heavenly Father provided us all with strength that we didn't know we had.
My friend Trina had been by to see me the day before and she told about how when her mom died they had been sitting at her bedside for 4 days, they decided to go get showered, and everyone left but one brother in law, and that's when her mother died. She said that she thought for the dying person it's probably very hard for them to let go with their family right there. So I relayed that story to my family and we all agreed that we should maybe step out of the room for a minute so my dad could transition from this life to the next. Again we said our personal good-byes, but still we lingered not wanting to leave my dad's side. The door bell rang and it was Trina's dad Wayne (my dad's fishing buddy), and his daughter Michelle. They had stopped to bring food over. That's when most of us went down the stairs to say hi to Wayne. Scott stayed behind and leaned over to tell my dad "Oh daddy, there there, everything will be alright". That's what my dad always used to say to us...there there, everything will be alright. My dad took one last gulp of air and was gone, as a single tear dropped from the corner of his eye, across his nose, and down his cheek. A miracle in itself because my dad had had eye surgery in 2007 and as a reuslt had serverly dry eyes, and he couldn't produce tears anymore. He left us with a gift of a single tear, a symbol that he loved us and was sad to leave his family behind. For the last ten minutes or so of his life, he had opened his eyes and he was staring up at a corner of the ceiling. He was staring through this life and into the next, and we all knew it. We knew that he was looking at his mother, father, brother or whoever was there to escort him from this life to the next. It was only a couple of minutes at the most where all but Scott were out of the room. So Trina was probably right, and my dad just needed to go without his family standing by holding him back. Scott came down the stairs and told us that it was done, and dad was gone.
Even though it had been so hard to see my dad in such agony, with his labored breathing, it was harder to see his body so still. Just a shell of a man without his spirit inside. I called Lor and told him to come with the kids as soon as possible. I wanted them to see Grandpa one last time before the mortuary took him away. After my kids and husband had said their good-bye's Scott and Daniel helped the morticians take my dad's body down the stairs and to the hearse outside. Oh what a sad thing that was to watch as my dad's body was taken out of the house that he had lived in and loved for more than 40 years. And ever since he left his house, it's just not been the same without him there.
This Christmas season has been such a struggle for me without my dad. It's so weird to not be making him a sentimental gift, or trying to find just the perfect thing for him. It's so strange not to have him sitting in his chair as I walk in the front door and through the kitchen to the family room. It's so lonely not to have my dad ask me how I'm doing, and ask what he can do to help me. I know that Heavenly Father's plan of salvation is perfect. I know that I will be with my dad again someday, and I know that my dad isn't gone, and that he's still here with me. I know that he's able to give me comfort even now. But even with the knowledge I have, I am still struggling with my dad being gone from this earth life. I wonder when the stabbing pain of his loss will be gone, replaced by the numbness that will linger. For now I just wake up every day with a prayer in my heart that Heavenly Father will help me do the things I have to do to be a good mom, wife, sister, daughter, and friend, and that I can get through the pain I feel over my dad's absence.
So what message do I take from the dream I had this morning? That everything will be okay and that my dad loves me. Words that my dad was unable to say at the time of his death, and I can take comfort in that. Everyting will be okay, someday.
Merry Christmas Gusty! I love you so much, miss you more than anything, and hope you are having the best Christmas ever!
