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I really needed to write this tonight . . .

If you didn't know, my Daddy died back on the night of May 4, 2008.

Some days are still very hard. I'm not used to not having my dad around at times. I'm still used to saying things like, "Oh, my dad can do that." There are little things that I just don't know how to do at all.

Like, I couldn't get my trike tire pumped. It ended up being that it is leaking either from the inner tube or from the valve.

However, my problem now is how do I get it back to the bike store because we only have a little Chevy Cobalt now, which is a great car, but how do we haul anything with that?

I was close to my Daddy and I'll always be his little girl.

However, I can't shake the feeling that before I was born and when I was born, that my Daddy wanted me to be a boy. He would always take me fishing and I enjoyed it when I was younger, but I grew to not like being outdoors and he still wanted to take me outdoors.

He would try to get me to go to Special Olympics practice and participate in sports.

He would have me do the painting or claning of things while he "helped" (that was sitting and watching me do the work and telling me what to do).

However, there were sometimes when I was definitely his daughter, and I do miss those times.

Yet, I see actors or know of how people don't recognize others as they get older and sicker.

Well, my Daddy was not doing well, even though his death was sudden.

He was diagnosed with Type 1 (formerly called Juvenile) Diabetes when I was 3, 4 or 5 and we still lived up in Midland, MI.

He got this condition called Charcot Foot and he had to have these metal things put into his left foot. We would have to go all the way to Houston for his appointments.

He got an infection in his leg and during the summer of 2002, he got very sick. Of course, he denied it, even though he couldn't keep anything down - he literally was vomiting water by the time we were able to call 911 without him protesting.

They came and got him and he was in the hospital almost all summer.

There were two options: keep trying to flush out the infection and keep him on the Vancomycin (strongest antibiotic that exists) or amputate below his knee. The second was chosen, as that was the one that was quite obviously the one where he would definitely be okay.

It was very difficult when he came home to heal, though. He often had insulin reactions. He was too weak to do anything himself for a long time. He would have an insulin reaction, fall out of his wheelchair, and then forget that he did, and then he'd complain that we never did what he wanted, calling me lazy. Somehow he got this idea that I NEVER helped during this time and would often say that to me from this point . . .

We had no idea until much later that at least twice the doctors has thought they lost him.

He ended up with Charcot Foot in his right foot and had to get all the metal plate and stuff, too.

Then he got a blood blister that never healed, and that's why he wore a huge black boot on his foot.

He was supposed to take care of his feet, and he'd start out doing it, but he'd stop.

He also was supposed to not eat so much choloesterol, and for a day or maybe up to a week, he wouldn't. Then he'd start eating tons of cheese for his "snack" at night. He could eat so much cheese. He would eat way more than he ever should eat and only after he had died did I know that he wasn't eating just his cup o'noodles for lunch at McNeese, but also sausage with cheese.

So, on May 4, when he vomited the water, I said to get him to the hospital. He was being stubborn and saying to call Dr. Primeaux to find out which hospital. I did call, and got the answering service, but I just told him St. Pat's.

I had to go out and get the van that we had at that time as that's what we needed for my Daddy to be able to drive or even ride.

I was outside for a bit, and I kept asking if they were coming when my sister would come out. I felt so bad that I was not in the house to help, even though they kept assuring me that it wouldn't have mattered.

My mom and sister got him out and while we were driving, he kept complaining about the way my mom was going when I knew she was going down streets in order to miss the lights and the traffic.

We got to the ER and they took his blood pressure, though they would not let me get him anything to drink. Little did I know that him always being so thirsty was a terrible sign.

When he got into a treatment room, they said that he had really high blood pressure and would need to be in the ICU. He was just "I know," and saying to the nurses how he didn't care if they poked him here or there with the needles.

Suddenly, I hear the nurse yell, "Oh shit!" and they go to doing the chest compressions.

We were told that he was okay right berfore I called a friend and she came to be with me. Since I thought he was going to be okay, we were talking and joking about how guys don't tend to take care of themselves and don't like to go to the doctor and even how we might not like going to the doctor, but if we really feel that something is wrong, we are going to go.

However, they asked us to come back where my mom was sitting - and my friend said she was going to go, but they said that we'd need a friend.

They tried to revive him a fourth time, but it didn't work.

My world changed so much right then.

Six months passed before I was out of my terrible depression (same amount of time passed the last time somebody I knew unexpectedly died).

Now, I'm okay.

However, it's still hard some days. I do miss the nice and helpful Daddy. I don't miss the one that complained about everything and was a hypocrite about most everything.

I can be glad that he went quickly and probably peacefully and didn't suffer. I know it would've been torture for him to be cooped up in the hospital or put in a nursing home, but there are just those times that it seems so much that he should be here.

. . .

It surrprised me that when my beloved Marbles (my dog - beagle and black lab mix) died on December 22, that it didn't really hit me until earlier this month and now it still does at times.

Yes, I do have another dog by now, a small one, and I do love him.

I don't know . . . I just needed to write this all out . . .

But, most days, I'm living me life . . . and still somehow trying to reach my dream of being a published author . . .


( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
Mar. 28th, 2009 08:15 pm (UTC)
I am so sorry!
I am so sorry for what you have gone through, I haven't lost a parent, but I have been out of touch with them for weeks at a time when they leave to go on vacation so I feel that emptyness. But I have the sign of relief when they get back which you don't have and I am so sorry. My best friends mother recently passed away and I wonder how they cope with her being gone. I really wish you the best and I hope everythings okay.
Just remember, he's in a better place.
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )


Dad's hand
Missing Dad

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