My Dad, (and my "Heidi~Dog"), in the back forty...
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*Please bear with me, as I copy from my own journals; and remember-
Written December 17th, 1984...
"It's been a while- A long, long while.
And I have chosen NOT to write because I cannot trust in my emotions-
This entry to be a collective one, as best as I can remember the events of the last two weeks
My father died on the 4th...
...and I want to recall every possible detail- from that day forward.
This entry promises to be one of my longer ones...
...And I haven't even written that Dad got his deer this year.
A doe, 163 pounds, GUTTED.
And he was SO proud of this huge deer!
So began the events leading to his death. For it was in moving the deer to get it cut that he threw his back out, (or so he/we believed it to be his back).
But then, as we have come to learn, somehow HE knew-
And so he prepared to die-
In so very many ways- (and more that I am sure that we have not come upon even yet)...
For a week he had bad pain in his back...
On that Sunday- A beautiful warmish day after the first collective, snowfall, we'd watched the Packer Game together- As always we had done. We didn't miss a single one. (Oh how he hated Lynn Dickey)!
But we sure had fun.
At halftime I built an enormous snowman...
Dad went to the kitchen to make us dinner. Venison steak. But he had to hurry because I needed to leave. (We were supposed to get an additional 7" of snow, and I didn't want to be in the middle of it all).
That was the very best venison I have ever had; and I am not just saying that because he is gone now. I told him so even while we ate.
Monday was a normal day.
Mom called at night. I was tired; and we didn't really talk too long.
I'd cut out patterns for Rita and Sara; (bibs and teddy bears for them both this year)...
Tuesday morning I was getting dressed when Mom called; she was at Saint Marys Hospital with Dad.
Dad had gotten up at 5:30, fixed the wood furnace in the basement, and had gone back to bed.
At 7:15, they both got up.
He fell to the floor downstairs -
And couldn't get back up. Slowly, she helped him.
With moments of intense stomach pain and trying to get him comfortable on the sofabed - (a bit of coffee)- and he threw up.
More pain.
Mom called the Rescue Squad. They were there within ten minutes- to St. Mary's then.
She called me... Zoe and Jenne were both already at school.
I then called Lisa who came and got Bobbe in seconds. (Bobbe was still in the tub, playing).
I called Mary.
When I got to the hospital, Mom was with the priest-
The ER doctor came in, and told us Daddy was going to die.
His heart had stopped for a few moments en route to the hospital. They did everything they could have known, and got it going again.
His abdominal aorta which had ruptured (aneurism)-
They had to operate to save (prolong) his life.
Due to his 'shock' they had to wait for his blood pressure to come back up.
Slowly.
And that damned waiting game began.
Dr. Bishop was called in, (a vascular surgeon), as they prepared an operating room.
Mom and I were allowed to see him.
Pale.
In obvious pain.
Leather warming pants.
A manual respirator.
An IV or two; I can't recall.
I saw pain.
I saw death...
...And I held his hand.
Mom spoke, "We're here Lawrence, and I love you"...
... He nodded and tried to smile even through the respirator.
I told him "I love you too, Dad."
" Mary and Paul are on their way"
...And I told him he was "going to be alright"...
He squeezed my hand - and it meant/MEANS so much - an acknowledgement.
Together; with Mom's nod and smile he still knew and understood...
And they took him to surgery.
Mom and I went to the chapel... A silent prayer to two, then up to the waiting room.
9:30am.
I called Aunt Florence. She came.
I called Anita. She came.
Jim Kurowski came; having heard the initial squad call on his CB. Friends Mike Kobielak, Kurt Kobielak, Koreen Kobielak. Father Dave. Mary and Paul. All there.
News of progress (1-ish).
...Graft was in place.
By 3:30pm he had received 29 units of blood, and was (miraculously) still alive-
Every emotion in the world, every possible feeling, every conceivable sense, was felt that day.
Love.
Anger.
Hurt.
Hate.
Surprise.
Rejection.
Denial.
Deception.
Pain.
Happiness.
Turmoil.
Pride.
Fear.
Hope.
And so on down the list- and in every conceivable mixture of emotions.
Yet for the larger part of the day I felt numb- an overwhelming of conflicting emotions.
The day was so long.
Yet everyone stayed.
Aunt Lu came. Joanne, Linda, Joyce.
Patti Ryan.
He was out of surgery.
Dr. Bishop came in 5:30ish and said he had no explanation how Dad survived- but he did...
(That's my PA)
And then to take him up to ICU.
The surgery had taken its toll.
The death that had begun so long ago, no longer able to be denied.
Still, I faced him with disbelief.
Cold.
Hooked up to Life Support.
IVs in every possible vein.
Respirator-
And unconscious.
His kidneys had failed.
(Having died in the ambulance that morning, he'd had no output since they had catheterized him prior to surgery).
His color was wrong somehow.
He looked uncomfortable.
Still.
Disbelief.
And I left the hospital-
Home.
More disbelief.
Patti drove me.
And back to the hospital to see him again.
Puffed.
Bloated
White.
Colder.
More disbelief.
Nausea.
And Mom clinging to her undying, unfaltering Faith.
Hope.
A promise or two of tomorrow.
...Of the Christmas we had planned for.
Paul, so torn.
So hurt.
So crumbled and disheveled
By 7:30pm, Dad had received 37 units of blood.
They'd run out of A+ (which I have and no one told me); and had switched to the universal Type O.
Blood pressure still nowhere (40/0 and not getting better).
At 8:00pm, we were summoned in to pay our last respects...
Mom, Myself, Mary, Patti and Linda (his two Godchildren).
We were helpless- hopeless- all of it abandoned...
... to watch powerless
as he died.
His monitored heart rate slowly stopping.
From the mid 70's, and then lowering slowly each moment...
I thanked the Lord for giving me the ability to speak, "Dad, we're all here now"
(heartrate to 8),
"Dad, and we all love you so much"
With that he died.
Heartrate 0...
...I was holding on to Mom who was near to collapse as we watched that awful monitor. (As I was being held up by something- not someone).
...That I'd found my voice to speak aloud was nothing short of a miracle.
Mom went to him and touched him "Oh Lawrence." ... "Oh, I love you."
And with those words came that one last significant gigantic heart beat.
Heart rate: 127.
.
.
.
Heart rate: 0.
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.
Intense disbelief.
And over and over again in my head- echoing- echoing- over and over. 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil for Thou art with me'
And it went over, and over, and over, in my head.
But no one spoke.
No one.
Silence.
Death.
Disbelief.
Horror.
Belief.-
'Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me'.
No one spoke.
Just that awful silence- and those echoes in my head with this horrible truth settling in.
With this overpowering closeness and still of death I ran from the room. I was stopped at the elevators; led back by a schoolmate who had been working, heard the news, and had been waiting too.
Laurie was there, and held me when I couldn't stand; for in sitting there was no comfort either.
To my side, I saw Paul absorbing the whole thing; alone.
And I couldn't go to him either, for it would have been to be sharing my own pain- (And it was all too personal then).
Dad was gone?
...The only mans love for me that I have never had to question.
...The only man whoever loved ME, without question.
(Such were my thoughts of that moment).
I was taken back to a large room then, filled with so many caring and loving people...
(For some reason I didn't really want them there, but they were needed there too).
Shock.
Agony.
Pain.
And each one SO intense.
A nurse brought me a cold rag that cleared my head for those few seconds.
Phone calls I made, in a dazed state.
And slowly, people were leaving... us.
Mom and I went in for a last good-bye. So darkened in that room, which only moments before had been a frenzy of nurses, and hospital staff, and machines, and people, and raw emotion.
Now so darkened.
So cold.
So empty.
A silent prayer from me.
And yet, my mother still spoke to him.
My recollection after this point less clear in my mind, but I remember Mom wanting to stay with him, and the nurse telling her "no."
(Mom had only wanted to stay until the funeral director came). Harold Pfotenhauer.
But so we left. (And I know I drove her home).
Catatonic.
Almost comatose.
We spoke little; each in our own private pain, with memories.
And yet, each feeling more pain for the other.
I recall how it struck me that I didn't know how to deal with Mama.
And driving in the yard, Kurt Kobielak followed us in.
I told him Pa had died. Having left the hospital earlier he didn't yet know.
He hurt, but came in, (and rebuilt that damned fire in the basement that had gone out sometime during the day).
A significant point, that.
...It too, dying slowly.
The same fire Pa had made that morning, strangely dying along with him.
And Heidi-dog "knew". With real tears in her own eyes, showing us human sorrow. I felt for her then too.
Mom picking up Pa's clothes that had been laying around.
And I felt his presense."
to be continued...
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