The past week has been one for the books. Very tiring, very emotional, and I can’t wait until I have the time to finally stop and breathe.
Just not yet…
As some of you already know, my daddy passed away on February 15th. Yes, I still call him daddy at 39 years old.
So how did we get here?
In September of last year, Mark had a stroke. I guess in some ways I feel like we’re lucky. Me and my damn optimism. His physical impairments the 1st couple weeks were moderate, with him needing a 1 or 2 person assist to do most things. He had good days and bad days, and there was no rhyme or reason as to why some days were better or worse than others. His mental impairments were also moderate. He was still very sharp with recognition and talking about his finances and remembering phone numbers.
After a couple weeks in the hospital he was transferred to a short term rehabilitation center to continue speech and physical therapy. He remained in pretty good spirits throughout his rehabilitation stay but he was ready to come home.
The nurses and doctors and case workers needed a plan of action for when he wasked finally released to go home. I became his power of attorney over his finances and health decisions and we decided to transfer him once more to a nursing home temporarily while I got his house ready for his arrival.
A lot of work has gone into the house. Before the stroke had let a lot of things go. While he chose to live in the condition that the house was in, he was also medically, physically and mentally able to make that decision for himself. He had planned on selling for cheap and finding a smaller more manageable home to live in.
He had no heat, hot water, or working plumbing. By no means was he able to live like that after the toll the stroke took on him. If a case worker came to look at the house in the state it was in I’m sure they wouldn’t just say no, it would be a resounding HELL NO.
So my boyfriend and I with help of a few friends had literally transformed the house back into a home, for the most part.
The septic tank needs emptied still and we’re in dire need of a water softener with filtration. We also need an oven, a cook top, a bathroom vanity, among a few other things.
The electric needs updated badly. We’re talking 1960’s, no ground, electric. Half the house has no electric, I’m assuming a bad breaker but I’m not touching it… I had someone come look at it and they wouldn’t touch it either.
So we got him transferred to a nursing home in Whitehall, which he absolutely hated. I reassured him every visit that we were working as fast as possible to get him home.
My last visit there in the beginning of February was different. It felt different, he seemed different. I can’t begin to imagine the isolation and loneliness he felt. I feel like he was losing his faith in me to get him home where he belongs.
He wasn’t talking much to me, just barely responding to what I was saying. At this point I didn’t blame him.
I said goodbye, kissed his cheek and left.
A few days later I get a call from his nurse saying he isn’t doing well, that she recommends hospice and that I need to come see him. She said bloodwork came back fine, but he wasn’t eating and was lifeless.
I felt like he was giving up, I had taken too long and that this was it.
When I got to the nursing home I sat in my car for a little while prepping myself for what I was gonna say and so I wouldn’t start bawling in front of him. A squad pulled in about the same time I did and I had a feeling, but at the same time I hadn’t received any calls either.
I get stopped halfway down the hallway for his nurse to say he got squaded out to the hospital, he wasn’t doing good at all and she gave me a number for hospice.
When I got to the hospital and saw the decline in his health over a matter of about a week, I couldn’t believe it. He looked so frail and weak. He wasn’t talking still, he just looked empty.
The nurse told me that he was sick, full of infection. He had over a liter of urine in his bladder and a severe UTI. One of the issues that was caused by the stroke is he doesn’t empty his bladder. It’s like his body forgot how to pee.
His potassium level was critical and they placed him in ICU where he stayed until the 14th.
They gave him aggressive antibiotics, fluids, you name it, and I was expecting him to bounce back. But day after day he remained the same… still sick, still not himself. I was scared I was running out of time. The hospital said they could keep treating him, keeping him a prisoner with all their wires and tubes and blood draws OR they could stop the treatment and he could go home.
There had been too much damage by the time he was admitted, he even had acute renal failure by then.
I spoke with hospice about his pending release and they started preparations for everything. Any equipment he may need, any doctor visits would be to his house. He never had to go back to a hospital or nursing home again.
Finally, I could give him what he wants, which is just the comfort of being in his own home. Hospice isn’t a death sentence, he could live 10 more years. Hospice has come a long way in recent years and it was exactly what he wanted and needed.
I made the arrangements and on the 14th he got brought home on a stretcher. He was responsive, he was aware he was home. After we got him in bed I said, daddy, you’re home! He got the biggest smile on his face and I felt like everything after that was going to be ok, no matter what.
He couldn’t do anything at all by himself except lay there. A part of me thought there was hope, that every day, every hour, every minute, if I stayed by his side, fed him, moved his arms and his legs that he would regain strength and one day we would walk down to the pond again.
But once again, the positive, naive voice inside me was silenced with a quickness.
Hospice came in the morning the next day, as she’s explaining things to me about her plan of action, she paused when she heard his breathing and said, Listen to me….
So daddy pretty much started the dying process shortly after he got home. There’s several stages to it when a person is going naturally. She made him as comfortable as possible while I tried to make the best of the few hours we had left. We couldn’t figure out what he was waiting for, he should have left hours ago. But he kept hanging on…
Around 8 that evening my mom decided to go home, she’d be back in the morning. As soon as she pulled out of the driveway his breathing changed and he was gone within minutes. I don’t know if he was just enjoying being with his family, or if he just didn’t want to hurt my mom by leaving. Either way, it fills my heart and gives me a feeling of peace.
His suffering was over. I felt such relief for him along with such grief.
Years before he had some final wishes drawn up along with a small insurance policy. Very small.
While reviewing his final wishes, I learned my dad wanted to rest in the mausoleum, just like my grandparents. Unfortunately, the money he left for his final expenses is nowhere close to enough to fulfill his request. In fact it isn’t enough for a basic service and burial.
I am completely drowning in debt from the expenses incurred over the last 5 months that he was sick.
The last thing I want is to go against his final wishes, he trusted me to make these things happen. So I’m asking for some help. The money I raise will be paid to Greenlawn Cemetery for his spot in the wall.
Any donation is appreciated, no matter the size because it all adds up.
I want to thank you all in advance for your contributions, it means the world to us.
I know a lot of you are going to read through this and ultimately decide not to donate. And that’s totally fine. It seems as though there’s always someone asking for money for something.
All I ask is for you to put yourself in my shoes for a moment.
During a time that money is the very last thing on my mind and all I want to do is grieve, I am instead dedicating precious time to trying to get money. It just doesn’t seem fair or right.
I find the cost of even a basic service and burial to be outrageous. Unfortunately it’s a necessity, so here we are…
I am grateful that he had his final wishes drawn up and left a little bit of money to go towards everything. I couldnt imagine trying to figure it all out by myself because of course I want everything to be perfect for him.
If you take anything from this chapter in our lives, let it be this:
The conversation may be hard to start and even harder to finish, but don’t put it off. Your loved ones will go through enough without trying to set up arrangements without your input.
I’m 39 and felt like I was kinda young to get life insurance. I know I sound like a salesman right now, but I got $100,000 policy for $11 a month. That’s plenty to take care of my final wishes, without leaving a burden on my family.
Please consider donating, even if it’s a few dollars. And please share this, it would mean the world to us.
Thank you