CHAPTER 39
Time for a last goodbye is a gift, make the most of it.
I run through the automatic front doors as soon as they open, and the fact that Anita isn’t there waiting causes panic to flare inside my chest. There’s another nurse.
She waves me forward in a hurried manner.
Together, we run down the illuminated hallway.
The closer we get, the more I hear—Anita’s voice, calling out orders.
When I enter, I see Rhonda, the head RN, working over my father. She’s doing CPR while Anita squeezes a plastic bubble to push air into his lungs.
I freeze in the doorway. Anita’s eyes fly up to mine. She doesn’t stop squeezing and never loses count, but she shakes her head.
Though my feet weigh me down with what feels like a hundred pounds per step, I move forward. “How long?” Because I refuse to let him go without at least getting a chance to say goodbye.
Anita flicks a glance at her watch. “A little over four minutes.”
The blaring sound of the monitor has been turned off at some point, but I see the flat, blue line sliding across the screen.
Rhonda’s black hair has come out of her clip, and a few strands stick to her lips. It’s obvious she’s tried her best, but I fucking refuse to give up on him.
She’s not strong enough, and though I know I’m about to get security called on my ass, I bodily move her out of the way so I can take over.
She screeches, “What are you doing?” And she attempts to pry my hands away. But I push her back and start again.
“Your arms aren’t strong enough to force enough air in.”
“You can’t—”
“It’s okay.” Anita holds up a hand. “He’s a medic in the Army. He knows what he’s doing.”
Rhonda snaps, “Anita, think rationally here—”
“I am.” The two women stare each other down. “You’re tired, and your compressions were only getting weaker. What we’ve been doing hasn’t worked. It’s his father. Let him try.”
Anita glares at me, fear in her eyes. “Don’t crack his chest.”
I nod once in understanding, get on the bed, knees on each side of him, and lean over his chest. Counting in my head as I go.
I want to detach to do this right, but I can’t.
I keep telling myself I know how to do this.
I’ve done it so many times. But also the words .
. . This can’t be how things end pops into my mind.
“Adrenaline?” I ask.
“Already injected,” Anita replies.
“How much?”
“One cc.”
“Let’s do one more. Shock pads?”
“They’re on.”
“How many times has he been hit?”
“Two.”
“Level?”
“150”
“Turn it up and hit him again. 200.”
Thankfully, Anita and a nurse move around the room rapidly to help me. Rhonda throws up her hands. After watching for a few seconds, she grabs the defibrillator and takes over. “Check the pads, Nancy. Make sure he’s thoroughly connected.”
After the next set of compressions, I back off as they shock him.
Nothing. I recenter myself over him and start a new round of compressions.
Rhonda calls out, “Anita, slow down the ventilation.”
The other nurse, Nancy, reconnects a pad that came loose from my dad’s chest. She smooths it over before stepping back. When I get close to the end of my count, Anita lifts the ventilation mask and backs up. I leave him again and watch and pray under my breath.
“Clear!”
The jolt rolls over his prone body.
“Anything?” At the same time, I move forward and press my fingers to his neck.
“I feel something, confirm.” Then my dad gasps and sucks in a gurgling breath, his chest rises and falls in a stutter.
Rhonda shouts behind me, “He’s back. Record the time.”
I grab my dad’s hand and squeeze it. “Just hold on, Pop.” Anita puts the regular oxygen mask over his face, and his jagged breaths return.
Movement out of the corner of my eye draws my attention.
Mr. Nava has wheeled himself into the room and is watching us all from just inside the doorway.
He’s leaning on one of the arms of his wheelchair, and his hand covers his mouth.
We nod at each other. “You did the right thing,” he says.
“He’d want more time with you. Would want you to have a chance to say goodbye. ”
Anita, Rhonda, and Nancy move around me. They read his vitals and trade information about his stats back and forth. It’s white noise to me. The only thing I can focus on is each rattling breath my father takes. They’re gifts and somehow fill me with shame at the same time.
Moving close to my old man, I sit beside him on the edge of his bed.
I watch him struggle for air while I grip his hand firmly in mine, holding on to him and stealing some time back from fate.
I’m thinking only of myself, and my selfishness doesn’t escape me.
The guilt is simply lower on the totem of emotions filling me to the brim.
I’ll pay for what I’ve done here, no doubt in my mind.
It’s my heart in charge at the moment, and the rest I’ll deal with later.
The minutes slide into hours, and then another day dawns.
I use the time to talk to him. I stay by his side and tell him everything I can think of about me and my life.
I may not be able to know everything about him, but I can sure as hell tell him everything I’ve held back, details I’ve never shared with another soul, so before he goes, he knows all of me.
The moment comes. I feel it creeping up on me, like a fading connection, the strength of the bond we share withering. On the opposite end, within me, there’s a ball of anxiety, a knot stuck in my throat, a barrier between me and my ability to speak.
The last bit of control I have on my emotions is snapping taut. I know he needs to know I’m okay, and he can go now. I’ve said what I need to tell him, and I’m just waiting for him.
I want to be able to say it’s okay to go.
I love you, and I know it’s time. But those words just won’t come.
Maybe because years ago, we swore to never lie to each other again.
Not after I found him on the floor that day and had to watch as the paramedics performed CPR before they carried him out of our house on a stretcher to the ambulance.
Instead of voicing the lie, I do what I promised and give him the truth.
“Still upset you didn’t tell me. I can’t tell you what that did to me that day. Coming home from school to find you on the floor. It sent me spinning. I grew up thinking you were untouchable, unshakeable, and that day shook my world to the point it was no longer recognizable.”
His eyes flutter behind his eyelids, giving me the sense that maybe he can hear me.
“I don’t know if I’ll honestly ever forgive you for that.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and fix his blanket.
“There were things I’d always meant to ask you. Yeah, I know I should have done it before now, but it was just never the right time, you know? Like what was it about my mom that made her worthy of your love, and yet not mom material? I never understood that.”
This next one is a little harder to voice. “Did she ever… you know… reach out again… try to make contact?” Ask about me? Try to see me?
“Not something you can answer, but I need to get this out. I think it’s why I’m holding on.
Still some things left unsaid and bottled up.
I keep thinking, as I look at you this way, that I don’t want this for you.
I don’t want you in pain, and I don’t want you to suffer anymore.
You’ve suffered enough. I know you need to rest and move on.
I know part of what is holding you back is me.
” I give a humorless laugh and choke up. I stand and grasp the back of my head.
“Holy fuck, this is hard.” Tears are welling in my eyes, and I’m fighting them back, but they keep brimming.
I pace a few steps and speak. “I’m sorry.
I feel like a little fucking kid suddenly, and I’m clinging to your leg for dear life because I’m afraid to face the world without you right here.
” I shake my head. Turning, I place my hands on the bed beside his thigh and lean over, letting my head hang between my shoulders.
The tears come. I wipe them away rapidly, but more fill those same spaces.
Rolling my shoulders and sucking in a long breath, I go on. “I thought I could do this…” And then a sob tears out of me. I crouch down and cover my face. Oh God. Oh God . “Fuck!”
This is it. But I can’t. I can’t say goodbye.
I can’t. Those words repeat over and over inside my head as tears flood my face, fill my hands, and fall past them.
The emotion pours out, my shoulders shaking.
I lose my balance and sit on the floor. I sit there, my head between my knees, my hands over my head.
I don’t know how long it goes on, but for a good long while, I let the turbulent grief roll through me in a way I never have before. God knows what the patients and nurses think.
When I eventually pull myself together, I use my shirt to wipe my face. I scrape myself off the floor and sit beside him again, my hand resting on his arm.
“I guess I wasn’t as ready as I thought.
” My tone is gruff but steady. “I don’t know how to do this.
I mean… I knew… of course I knew this day was coming…
dreaded it. But I thought I’d be okay. I mean…
not okay… but better about handling it. I’m not, in case you missed that.
” I chuckle through a few tears. They come slower now, but steadily.
I wipe roughly at my jaw. Honestly, it’s pointless.
The river running down my face is endless.
“I know it’s your time, Pop. You’ve done your best to prepare me for this.
Even though nothing you or I could have done could have prepared me for this.
But I’m… I’m gonna be okay.” I cover my mouth to cage in the sob that tries to escape.
When I get control of myself, I clear my throat.
“I’m not that same angry kid. There’s gonna be a lot of grief.
There’s gonna be days I’m not okay. There’s gonna be tough times, I’m sure.
But you go on up and watch over me so I can’t get through those times, okay.
Because knowing you’re there and looking out will help.
Knowing I’m not totally alone will help.
” I cover my eyes, pinch the bridge of my nose, then quickly rub away the wetness.
“I’ll miss you.” I nod and swallow the thick knot in my throat. “I’ll miss you so goddamn much. But, I’ll be okay.” A hand on my back. I jolt for a moment, but then I see Anita and she’s got a box of tissues and one held out to me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and she wraps her arm more firmly around me.
We sit in silence together for a few minutes, watching him.
Finally, I ask her, “How do I tell him it’s okay to go—that he can let go now?” Her kind brown eyes meet mine.
“Just like that, sweetie.” She takes my hand, places it over his. “He knows. He’s just waiting for the right moment.”
Less than an hour later, he takes his last breath.
His heartbeat on the monitor flattens to a line.
Instead of jumping into action, Anita, Mr. Nava, Rhonda, and Nancy keep me company as we all watch that line continue to move across the screen endlessly.
Anita disconnects it a few minutes later when I’m ready for her to do so.
Then she asks if she can say a prayer for him. I nod and bow my head to listen.
“May God keep you and hold you dear. May you never once again fear, because though our time on earth with you is no more, we will find solace that you’re safe and loved with those who’ve gone before. May your journeys never end until we meet again, my love and friend.”
Afterwards, I sit beside him, holding his hand even though I know he’s gone. I stay until his body heat slowly loses its warmth.
One day, hopefully in the far future, I’ll see him again. For now, though, we’ve said our last goodbye. I’m at least thankful I got the opportunity to do so, even if I’ll pay for it later.