I have been sitting here trying to avoid writing this one. The cursor blinks and I blink back. Every blink is like the beep of a heart monitor. My mind slows and the beeps slow and suddenly there are nothing but a straight line and flashing warning lights. No more oxygen levels, no more heart rate, no more blood pressure, no more gasping for air, no more father. All that is left is silence, straight lines and blinking words. All the machines are silent, the pumps are quite and there is nothing to hear but my own ragged breath and stifled sobs. My nose is sore from the discount hospitals tissues and my tear ducts actually hurt from the crying. My face is sore from a day of wiping away the tears. On the floor is the wet wash cloth that I used to wipe away the cold sweat from his head as his blood pressure dropped. Balled up tissues litter the bed and the floor, hoses and half full fluid containers and saline litter the table tops. A towel is draped over the mirror to protect the traveling soul. It all falls away from me and it just a 33 year old little girl holding on to the blue tinted hand of her daddy, her t-shirt drenched in tears and her heart laying on the floor split open from the weight of the last 24 hours.

It started Wednesday with joy and hope. He came off the blasted ventilator and was breathing very well on the bi-pap mask. I talked to him, he tried to talk, and I told him we would have plenty of time to talk later. His breathing was good and his lungs looked very good on x-ray. He tried to get up and enthusiastically nodded his head yes when asked if he wanted to get up. I thought we had turned the corner, we were in the clear, the silver lining was here, and it was all worth it… we had won.

The phone rings at 7:38 AM, the voice is distant and small, yet comforting. Something was wrong come to the hospital. Dad had stopped processing the nutrient feed from the feeding tube, as a result he had thrown up in his bi-pab mask and it had gotten into his airway. They suctioned out the obstruction, his stats dipped and came back up, the night moved on as normal. Early AM the same thing happened again. This time the stats did not come back up, they put him back on the ventilator.  When I arrived I was given a choice, put in a trache for the vent or take him off of everything. He eyes were wrong, there was nothing there.  I can’t explain it you just know, there was nothing there. You see enough dying people and you know what the spark of life looks like, there was nothing there anymore.  As the day went on it became clear he was not going to make it through the day. God/Nature/Fate had made its choice, now I was pissing into the wind using a machine to sustain a body devoid of hope and spirit. I consulted with another doctor to be sure, I asked him bluntly not to bullshit me, not to be nice but to be honest. He pressed his lips together and shook his head; it was too much to come back from. The infection had taken over and the chances were beyond slim, and the life that would have been left would have been… less than life. He was a strong and proud man, independent and honest, is this what he would want? My heart said no and the words floated through the room like smoke “take it off, take it all off”. The Doctor looked at me and said, “In my next life I want you to be my daughter, he is a lucky man and raised an amazing woman”.

The nurses all said it was the right thing to do.  They stayed till the end, one on each side. For while they left as they had other people to attend to, they didn’t want to go. I told them to tend to the living with a snicker. I pulled the chair close to dad’s bed so I could face him. I laid my head on the bed and held his hand. I counted the beeps and each gasp. They would start and stop. For hours he would stop breathing for a min and then gasp for breath. Each time my heart would sink and rise. Eventually I laid my head down and closed my eyes and stopped listening and just felt. I felt his pulse, the air in the room, the texture of the sheets, the metal clasp of the blood pressure cup cutting into my arm, the prickle of his arm hair on my arm, the feel of his skin in my hands, the pressure behind my eyes… I felt everything. I told him repeatedly it was ok and that I loved him. I told him that he was my hero and that no man would be good enough (haha). I told him that he was going to find momma and it was okay to go, there was no reason to go on, he could rest and I would carry his load from here.  I pulled away from him and whispered, “I’m gay” and I waited for him to cuss me out, there was nothing so I knew that my earlier feeling that he was already gone was true.  I laid my head on his chest and sobbed like a little bitch. The nurses rubbed my back and held his hands. Eventually I just lay on the bed and held his hand till there was nothing at all. The nurses called the time of death and we all cried together.

My 33 years of education had come to an end.

Rest in peace pop, I love you.

Luther Pittman

12/25/1925-7/3/2009