“I read the text wrong, this was SO not part of the plan”
Dad, it happened too fast. I only had a week. Getting the text that you were going to be put on hospice and then calling mom immediately to find out if I read the text wrong, this was SO not part of the plan.
At least MY plan.
You were supposed to be released from our local hospital and go directly into acute care in Salt Lake City. You were going to get well. You were going to walk again. Intense therapy to help you get where you wanted to be! Mom and I talked about it just that morning. We felt the peace of the doctor FINALLY being able to get you the help you needed. It was a blessing.
You had bounced back so many times and proved to us all you are a fighter. A massive stroke, a bone marrow test to rule out cancer. Sepsis, a broken hip. ER visits and overnight stays lots of IV’s, weekly wound care and Dr. visits… You were going to do it again!
I just knew they were wrong. You were going to prove them wrong. You wouldn’t be on hospice very long.
But, that is not and was not the case. Gone too soon. Only 63 years old. Your body had been through enough.
You fought and wanted to be here with us. But, you were needed and most definitely greeted by all of our family members on the other side. I can imagine the glorious reunion.
I’ve walked this road a couple of times already. Although I’ve done it before, and I know what to expect, it doesn’t make it any easier.
Especially when it’s “Dad.” You are supposed to ALWAYS be here. You’re like superman. You can’t die.
It doesn’t feel real. I keep thinking it isn’t. I come to the realization it isn’t just a bad dream. This is my life. And now I have to find a new normal.
You don’t need my help anymore. Your body is perfect and pain-free. I try to remember that so it doesn’t hurt so bad.
After you took your last breath, until the time of your funeral, the days and few weeks were a blur and shock. Our family was surrounded by so much love from extended family and friends, it didn’t have time to fully sink in.
Until I am alone with my thoughts. All the could haves, would haves, and should-haves run through my head.
I could have taken you fishing one more time. I wish I would have let you win the argument more! I should have told you how much I love you more often.
My heart hurts. I want to give you a hug. I want to joke around with you. I want you to tell me to just “shut up and listen for once.” I want to hear you say, “It will be ok, everything will be ok. don’t cry.”
I can’t and probably never will erase your name from my “favorites” in my phone. I want a call that says, “Dad” is calling. When I answer you say, “Kirst, did you make any cookies with that good frosting?”
I hurt watching mom hurt, and now I understand why you fought so hard to stay. The sadness from her soul shows in her eyes. Sleepless nights make her right eye a little more droopy than her left. She looks for you in a crowded room. I know this because she told me. She misses you, misses you like crazy. How could she not? You two were highschool sweethearts. You were together for longer than you were apart.
She knows you are near, you have let her know. Tender mercies.
I will let your legacy live on through me. My kids and grandkids will know, “two wrongs never make a right.” I will continue to hold their heads and tummies when they are sick with the flu. I will sing “Putta l-i-t-t-l-e smile on your face. Or when they get hurt, I will say, “rub it, rub it” cause we know that makes it better.
This isn’t goodbye, it is only ‘”see ya later.” I am grateful for the gospel. The knowledge that I will see you again. I know you watch over us and that you are there with my sweet boys.
Knowing this makes the pain bearable. It will lessen and I will be ok, and so will mom.
I LOVE YOU MORE THAN FOREVER….UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN.
