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.
