I have
held my tongue
held my breath
held my heart
for way too long.

I just can't keep it in any longer
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
If you are offended by the occasional wirty dord, obscenity, or naked truth please put on your sunglasses.

Wait.

I think you should all put on your sunglasses.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~


Monday, February 20, 2017

Semper Fi!



I had my Grief Breakdown yesterday morning, 28 days after the fact.  

At least I was in church.

When I was in CA, it was mostly my stubborn nature that helped me keep it together.  People around me decompensated in the most horrendous of ways (WHO CALLS THE CHURCH AND ASKS THAT THE FUNERAL MASS START 20 MINUTES LATE SO A TIE CAN BE FOUND?) and I was *DETERMINED* to not let buffoonery get in the way of honoring my Father.

I AM the Queen of Delayed Reaction, one of the many things I learned from my Warrior Father.  “If you’re going through hell, keep going,” which is why and how I can soldier through the most horrendous of situations…and have a nervous breakdown months later and miles away in a completely unrelated situation.  Some call it “severe PTSD”; I (and my Father) call it “survival.” 

The afternoon of January 21, I came back from doing errands for my Father to find him unconscious and unresponsive in his room at his care facility.  Code blue; ride in the ambulance to the ER at the Catholic hospital where I was born and my Mama died.  Mind you, I am the last of my branch of The Cliffords, so every decision and responsibility from here on out is mine and mine alone. 

My Dad was intubated and he came back to me.  He was restrained because he kept trying to take out the breathing tube.  He always told me he didn’t want “the paddles,” but his answer to every other medical intervention was “yes.”  I tore myself up over ordering him to be intubated because I *KNOW* how much he hates it.  But it wasn’t the paddles, so…

When it was time to put a tube in his nose to feed him, he refused.  He was awake and conscious and aware and cognizant and I was right in his face, reading it and his eyes and his whole demeanor so I could understand what he really wanted. 

“Daddy, do you know what this means?” I asked him.

He nodded.

And then his whole face contorted and that Marine who did a year and a half in a POW camp in Korea began to sob like I’ve never seen before.  He held my hand and squeezed it so hard I heard him speak in my heart.

“I know, Baby,” he said.  “I’m so sorry; I just can’t do it.”.

He wasn’t crying because of all the pain and discomfort; he was crying because he knew he was breaking my heart.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Yes, I always knew my Dad was my guy, but I honestly did not know the depth and breadth and extent of his True Love for me until that moment.  And still…it wasn’t until The Preacher told me it was True Love that I could accept it.

Sometimes my stubborn nature works against me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Despite all that, I was still hopeful that somehow, my Dad would recover.  It was my decision whether or not to take the tube out and I certainly did not want to make the wrong one.  I’ve made many decisions in my 50 years, but this one is the only that has EVER mattered.  I couldn’t get a grip on where we were and how to get out of it.  For the first time in my life, I faced a path separate from my Dad.

I struggled for a few brutal hours, watching all of the monitors, watching my Dad breathe.  Finally, I laid my head on his chest and told him, “Daddy.  I don’t know what to do.”

He nodded and squeezed my hand.

Just before dawn, I told my Dad I needed some air and went out for a drive in his car.  I drove to my hotel and back and, when I returned to the hospital, my internal guidance system found its route. 

Before I left, my Dad’s kidneys were failing and he wasn’t receiving nourishment.  That’s two systems failing.  My criteria for ordering his breathing tube out was three (my lucky number) systems failing.  Upon my return, his blood was coagulating.  A third system was failing. 

I took his hand in mine. 

“Daddy.  I think it’s time.  Am I making the right decision?”

He squeezed my hand three times:  Once for me; once for my Mama; and once for him.  That was always our code.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Before the tube came out, I called my Dad’s Beloveds so they could say “Goodbye.”  I could tell from his expression he heard everything.  He cried when his best friend – another Marine – broke down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When there were no words left, I ordered the tube out and turned on the music.  My Dad was surrounded by the Three Loves who stood by him through it all:  Myself, Olivia, and Danielle.  We jazzed that soldier right back into my Mama’s waiting arms.

My Beloved Father passed away at 2:13 p.m. on January 22, 2017.


2 comments:

  1. omgosh... how beautiful that you could be by his side and make his final dreams and wishes come true! Thank you for taking us with you on this most intimate, personal journey of the heart. So much love and respect for you! What a beautiful, loving daughter you are! Semper Fi! <3

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  2. Semper Fi, my friend. Sending you love. There are not enough words to say what I feel in response to this piece. Just, love.

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