Oh Hell No You Didn't » RIP

J’ai fini

Big S — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 04:47:08 +0000

The service is done, the debt is paid, the rent is made and paypal link is going back to the normal support this blog link. Thank you all for your support tonight and for all those who came and who wanted to come and could not. While it was a small service it was nice. The staff was awesome and very, very nice. Hamilton’s Funeral home in Wilson is a winner if you need a great staff at a reasonable price.

I got to see my black momma and that made me cry, but also made me feel really good. I found that when I hug women I do not cry, I comfort them. Let a man hug me and I cry like a bitch. Maybe I just need a man to feel vulnerable and break down, that would explain the gay thing as I hate to be vulnerable. I met one of my dads old school buddies who told me that him and dad were chasing the same girl and she didn’t know who she wanted to be with. She died this week, her name was Christine. I wish I knew more about my dad from those days, when he was my age and full of spit and vinegar. You know your family from the stories that family and friends tell, but rarely do you meet one of those old best friends that they raised hell with.

For the record I have the best friends ever. Really hands down, best group of friends ever. Fuck all your friends, mine are better.

With the service out of the way I can start to heal, start to look forward. I know I am going to miss him, how can you not. He was one of the most charismatic and charming men I have ever met. At 70 years old he was tougher than most men ever will be. In my life with him we cause more explosions and hijinks’s than I probably ever will again. He was a father, my pops, a daddy, a buddy, a best friend, a big brother, a hero, bad ass and a villain. I will miss his stories and I truly will regret not listening more or zoning out when he told the same story for the 20th time. I think I will miss watching wrestling with him the most. My entire childhood was shaped by me and daddy watching wrestling. We would watch the greats, Wahoo McDaniel, Ricky “The Dragon” Steamboat, Rick Flair (mom’s fav), The Four Horsemen, Magnum TA as I became older it was Sting, Sid Vicious, Razor Ramon, Goldberg, Jeff and Matt Hardy, Batista, Evan “Air” Bourne (kid has SO MUCH fucking talent) and Rey Mysterio. They were our gladiators, we didn’t cared if the story was real. When they hit each other it was real, the action was real, they were still risking life and limb every night to make me and my dad jump up and yell “HOLY SHIT!!!”. I will miss that, I will still watch it and yell, “HOLY SHIT!” but I will miss not having the chance to do it with my dad. Sigh..

Like all families we had our faults, things we did wrong, things we could never say, games that were missed, feelings neglected, bad judgments… but we were a family. Family that was always there for each other, family that would have died for one another. Both my parents were there when I came into this world and I was there when both of them left this world. For that I am grateful. I saw them both to the end, held them both and watched them leave this world. I promised my mother I would take care of my father and she was free to go. I did exactly as I said I would do, I will rest a little better tonight knowing I held up my end of the deal no matter how hard it was. I will be honest, there were days I wanted to quit, but I made a promise and those types of promises you don’t forget.

For my father, I can only promise to move on with my life and keep living and honor him with my actions.

And scene. that is a wrap, the life and death of my father

Big S — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 08:29:43 +0000

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.

12/25/1925-7/3/2009

bury me in the backyard when I die

Big S — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 21:53:13 +0000

I should have known. I have been through this before. The monetary sum of honoring your loved one has the ability to suck away any left over heart and soul you have left. It makes no fucking sense. Ideally I wanted to give my father a military funeral to honor the mans service to his country. He left alot of himself on the ground in Germany, Holland, Italy and France. He lost brothers in the war, friends died beside him on D-Day, his feet would bother him for the rest of his life from frost bite from months spent jumping fox holes in Holland. His stories would leave me breathless as a child. I wanted to honor that, however unless I blow 200 men for 50 bucks each that ain’t happening anytime soon.

So that leaves me with two options, I can either have a open casket visitation and then cremate him for around 5000 or I can cremate him and have a visitation for 3000. Do you know they charge almost a 1000 bucks to rent a casket for 2 hours. They have to replace the lining so they use that for the cremation container. I did find one place that would do the open casket wake and the cremation for 3000 but it seemed very ghetto. Not that I mind so much, I like ghetto, my family was always a little ghetto but in my heart I want to do more. I know he doesn’t care, his only wish was to be buried with mom. So the idea is to get mom a headstone that includes a urn and have him placed in that. If I go with the super ghetto option I can afford that. If I don’t it will be awhile before I can. And honestly I am not sure I want pop hanging out on my desk while I save up the cash. I guess I just feel like he has had to struggle his whole life and he has never had anything he didn’t bust his ass for, I just wanted to give him a little more.

This is just all too much. If you have a child, please have another so they don’t have to do it alone. If you have children please get burial insurance. Really, this is jacked up. I hate this so much. Not to mention I am out of vacation time and have to take the next week off unpaid. So kids, have more kids… spread this shit out!

Once I finalize the plans I will let you all know. The service will most likely be Tuesday or Wednesday evening. Instead of flowers and the such I am taking donations to help with services, link is in the side bar to the right.

This sucks.