I’ve yearned for my father my whole life. When I was little, he would pop in and out of our lives in an effort to rekindle a romance with my mother rather than be a father to his children. We were always the afterthought. He disappeared for many years, and, when I was 18, I pounded pavements and burned up telephone lines in order to find him. After all those years, finally we saw each other again.
The relationship was strained at best and nonexistent most other times. Time and time again, I would go visit and call only to have him say, “Come see me” or “Call me sometime.” I thought to myself, isn’t that what I’m doing. In 13 years, I visited and called him every chance I could. Our visits and phone calls usually consisted of an argument, because he always thought he was right about everything, including the fact that he had never been a father. His alcohol, drugs, gambling, work, wives, and stepchildren always took precedent over his own children. But, somehow, it was always me and my brother’s fault that there wasn’t a substantial relationship.
When I finally got tired of the constant let down and disappointment, I quit calling, and—well, the relationship ended. The reason being, a relationship doesn’t exist with only one person making an effort. I told myself that I was done with him, and, if he died, I wouldn’t care. I guess we never know how we will respond until we get that phone call.
On Saturday, August 11, I got that phone call. It was difficult to decipher and a lot of prayer and counsel went into the decision making process. I was told that they thought he had a heat related illness and collapsed while driving and CPR had to be initiated. We loaded up the next day and headed to the hospital. Tensions were high as me and my brother and his family walked in. Everyone treated us nicely, but we heard what they said behind our backs.
After talking with the doctors and locating the man who stopped to help, we finally put together somewhat of a timeline. He was at work that morning, and his boss found him slumped on a bench. When he went to check on him, he was responsive and said that he felt weak, dizzy, and very hot. They laid him down, put fans on him, and gave him some cold water. After a few minutes, they asked if he wanted them to call an ambulance or take him to the hospital. They said he jumped up off the ground, alert and oriented, and said he was fine. He went to his vehicle, cranked it, and turned on the AC to cool off. They came out and checked on him, and he was still fine. A bit later, they checked on him again, and his van was gone. They assumed he went home, or that he went to the hospital. As they stood there discussing the situation, they looked down the road and saw his van two blocks down with an ambulance next to it.
The patron who stopped was a firefighter. He initially stopped because he thought it was an accident since the van was snugged up to a brick wall. He said it was around 730 and people just drove on by and never stopped. When he looked through the driver’s side, he saw my father slumped over and thought that since he hit the wall that he might have a neck injury. He had to go look for help and found a woman in the nearby subdivision that came and helped him. They couldn’t get him out of the driver’s side because of the wall, and they had a difficult time getting him out of the passenger’s side due to a telephone pole and some other electrical equipment. Once he got him out, he realized he wasn’t breathing and initiated CPR. The fire truck showed up soon after, and they shocked him several times on-scene but were unable to get a pulse back. As they loaded him into the ambulance, he started breathing on his own.
Because of his body temperature being so high, they had to do cooling measures on him for three days. After all was said and done, they said that he had a heart attack, and the heat exacerbated the situation. His stubbornness led him not to get help, and now he lays in ICU. A man who prided himself on never stopping for anything is unable to move except for the sporadic twitches from his alcohol withdrawal. His vital signs all look good except for his constant reoccurrence of fever; therefore, that section of his brain is functional.
When I first walked into the room, the daughter in me wanted to see a response from him and what I saw burdened my heart. I saw person after person walk up to him and talk to him and his eyes were open. When my brother approached, it was as if he was trying to look right at him and tears filled his eyes. We found out later that he has a watery eye that cries all the time. When I walked up and talked to him, he closed his eyes and shook his head no. My heart broke even more at this as I realized that not only did he deny me my whole life, but also he still denies me in the end. The devil likes to play on our vulnerabilities. The more I yearned for his recognition, the more I felt denied. After talking with my pastor and his wife and praying on the situation, the medical knowledge that I have told me this was not the case. He has no control over motor skills and the area of his brain that houses his personality is completely damaged. He doesn’t know who anyone is. His EEG results show minimal brain activity and short of a miracle, he will never function again. He will lay in a bed the rest of his life in a vegetative state, or we can make a decision to discontinue care and provide comfort measures until he passes.
I went to see him at 5am the other morning, the only time that I could be alone with him and say my peace. The daughter in me thought how sad is it to be an alcoholic who lives his life the way he does, and he is now reaping the consequences. It saddened me that he never knew how truly remarkable his kids turned out or the wonderful grandchildren he had. It saddens me that he couldn’t accept the wonderful father and husband my brother had become in spite of it all, because my father was reminded of what he never was and knew that he had no hand in making my brother the man that he is. It saddened me to know that he would never get the chance to know me or walk me down the aisle, because he never thought I was his child. He denied me in the beginning, and he denied me in the end. But, then, regardless of the sadness I felt and the things I said, the Christian woman that I’ve become felt the need to forgive him for it all. I prayed that God would give him the wherewithal to hear my words, and that they may provide comfort. Surprisingly, after I spoke to my pastor about him closing his eyes in my presence, it never happened again. He never looked at me, but he didn’t close his eyes either. After all was said and done, I lay hands on him and prayed for his healing in whichever form it was to come.
I sometimes look back and wonder about things in life, and how it is that we find ourselves in these situations. I wonder if it would have been better to have never found him, always searching for him, wondering if he was doing the same, or is it easier to have known him briefly and have to live with the fact that no matter what I did, he still rejected me. Forgiving him was easy, but that doesn’t take away the hurt that resides inside my heart over the wasted years long since gone. And, as I sit by the phone waiting for updates, I can only pray that he is healed. I call and talk to the house supervisor, and he hears the inflection in my voice as he tells me, “No change. I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no change.” And, even after it all, my departing words are, “I love you daddy, even still.”
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