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x-cosmic-sunday-x (profile) wrote,
on 8-19-2015 at 5:58pm
I love you, I love you, and all of your pieces.

It's been almost 3 months since my dad passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. To say I'm having a difficult time grieving would be an understatement.
It was Monday, May 25th, about 4pm. My mom came into my work with a police officer, I knew immediately something was wrong. That entire week was a blur, my life had suddenly shifted into what felt like a new world. A world without my dad. Without the chance to say goodbye. It felt like half of me was gone. Not only that, my sister and I now had to deal with coroners, funeral homes, lawyers, notifying people, estate deals, and more. For the most part I soldiered on, knowing I just had to get through it. It hardly phased me when we went to identify his body, my only goodbye. It hardly phased me during his celebration of life. It hardly phased me going through the motions and amount of stress and responsibility that was sprung upon me. It hardly phased me, and sometimes it still doesn't. Sometimes. Other times, the overwhelming anxiety, fear, sadness I feel knowing I can never see my dad again, never talk to him, never hear his voice, see his face, no more morning facebook messages or weekly dinners. I feel hurt, I feel cheated, I feel like it isn't fair. I knew my dad would never live to be old, he didn't want to, but never did I expect this. I feel angry, at him, at others, at family. A year and a half ago he was in the hospital, his COPD had gotten so bad he almost died then. Two weeks he was in there, miserable, determined not to let this ruin him. I was there the day the doctor told him "If you do not quit smoking you will be dead within six months". Finally, I thought, he has been scared straight. Two things dad was terrified of was hospitals and dieing. It took awhile but slowly he started changing his habits; he was on oxygen for a month after he got out of the hospital (another grim reminder). He started walking, and as of March 2014 he was walking over an hour and a half a day (sans oxygen). Then in June he went back to Manitoba, his family is from there. He loved it out there, fishing, hanging out with his family, go on trips, truly enjoying life. It didn't take long for him to pick up smoking again, at first the effects of his COPD far less prevalent than before. But by the time he got back to Victoria in the beginning of May his health was clearly declining. He could no longer walk the length of the dock without having to stop because he couldn't breath. He was (as he always had) overusing his inhalers. All the while, unbeknownst to me, still smoking. I confronted him on it and he came up with some excuse that I was foolish enough to believe. I didn't want to believe he was going to go through this again. The few days before he died several people, myself included, had offered to take him to the hospital. He hummed and hawed over the thought, knowing he should go but quite frankly being to scared that he'd have to spend another two weeks in there. Around 9pm on Sunday the 24th we were texting a bit, talking about game of thrones. The corner says he passed away between 10 and 1, the last message he sent was to me, and in that I find some sort of solace. One of the things I struggle most with is knowing that he would have known he was dieing, he would have been terrified, and that thought makes me sick. When they found him, it had looked like he'd been on his hands and knees. When I went to collect his items out of his room, I noticed his puffer was knocked down beside his bed, in that moment it was clear that he had struggled. He had been reaching for his inhaler, dropped it and couldn't pick it up. He would have known at that moment it was the end.
I find it difficult to connect with people, I don't have any friends who have lost a parent at a pivotal time in their lives. I felt like I would have been more prepared to loose a grandparents, or my cat... yes it would be devastating and upsetting, but knowing they lived full, happy lives, is more than anything I could ask for.
In the end, it pains me to know he wasn't willing to quit smoking, and wasn't willing to go to the hospital. If he wouldn't do that, the outcome was inevitable. I don't feel guilty, I don't feel like anyone should have or could have done more, in the end he brought this upon himself, but it has effected my life more than anything I've ever experienced.

On another note, and I know it should be expected but my mental health, which was not good to begin with, is tumbling down that slippery slope yet again. No matter how hard I try, I'm struggling now more than ever. I'm meeting with a counselor next Thursday, and hoping we click so that I can have some consistency in the professional help department.

As always, I could say so much more, but energy and focus is fighting me these days.
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