The year was 1986. My Dad had been in a motor vehicle accident and was on life support.
I was in San Jose and had a 1 yr old and a 12 yr old when my sister called me and told me my dad was in a wreck. I was as devastated as I was in 1977, receiving a telegram on Okinawa that said, "Daddy had a stroke. He's expected to make it. Jesus is Lord."
This 1986 call was different because I could hear the anguish in her voice. I knew that meant that Daddy may not make it.
My family immediately packed our van for the trip across the country.
Usually, packing our van up meant that we were going to Monterey overnight or to Point Reyes, but this time, it was a different feel for us.
We hurried across the US as fast as we could and went to the Baptist Hospital to see Daddy.
I was struck by this thin, gaunt man who was my daddy. In my mind, he was always bigger than life with his 6'4" frame, but this time, he looked like he knew that this was it.
He opened his eyes and saw me. I could feel the joy in seeing me jump from his eyes to mine.
I tried desperately to control my tears, but I knew deep in my heart that this time, daddy wasn't going to make it.
The next two weeks seemed unreal. The medical staff were angels, and we had been told that he had broken C2 and C3 and would never walk, talk, or breathe on his own. The enormity of those words hit us all hard. There were 5 of the 6 kids present, and a decision had to be made.
We talked to Daddy the whole time, and he was communicating by blinking his eyes.
One time for No and two times for yes.
One of us had to ask him the question, and because I had some medical knowledge, I was chosen.
"Daddy, can you hear me?" Two blinks.
"Daddy, I have to talk with you about what has happened."
After my explanation, I asked him. "Daddy, do you want to live this way?"
One Blink, and I waited for the second one that never came. My daddy was 74 years old and knew that death was coming as soon as they pulled the plug.
Visitors were only 2 at a time, but when the decision was made and we were all in consensus, they let us all come in to say goodbye. I'll never forget the tear that slid out of Daddy's eye. I was his lil ole gal, and we would never walk or talk together again.
One hour after the machines were off, his heart stopped. He was alone with nursing staff, and I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for not being by his side. They didn't allow family to witness the death in those days. I'm not sure if they allow it now or not, but I should have asked to be there.
After the funeral, we made our way back to CA, where I was bereft and grieving.
The abusive alcoholic had morphed into the best daddy a body could ever have.and I was devastated, crying uncontrollably most days.
One of those times, I was sobbing and then felt a presence in my room. When I opened my eyes, my daddy and mama stood to the left side of my bedroom. Daddy said, " Don't cry, lil ole gal. I'm with your mama and have no pain."
I can swear that they were as real as you and me standing in my room, and they were happy, smiling easily as they never had in life.
I will always miss you, Daddy, and I am so thankful for all those silent lessons that you taught me. Thank you for telling me when I was a kid, that I was smart and was gonna go to college.
Thank you for working so hard, for so lil money all those years, but most of all, thank you for quitting drinking and for giving me a reason to say, Happy Father's Day. Love always, your lil ole gal. 💙
