For five decades, Dad has been a driving force in my life. I wanted to do him proud and bring him joy. So much of what I did and how I flourished was due his nurturing, his encouragement, and his loving enthusiasm. He caught me when I stumbled, rallied and cheering me on.
The turning wheel of the seasons and celebrations throughout the year provided anchors to come together, have fun, participate in rituals and jokes, and enjoy great food. One of the nights in ICU I walked Dad through the holidays with the greatest of love, talking about our special times, our jokes, our beautiful rituals, how he brought so much to everything, and how much I was looking forward to more good times ahead with him.
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Nights were the worst in ICU and the time when vitals would drop and alarms would clang and ring. I’d hear the panicked alarms of other patients struggling to breathe, hearts failing, IVs running out, so much struggling to live. I’d go home and my ears would be ringing, extreme tinnitus activated. When I would stand (unable to sit given set up) and talk next to him, holding his hand, Dad’s breathing would slow and the ventilator alarms would be less frequent. I talked for hours on end until hoarse… Until I had to run through the darkened hallways and collapse in the bathroom in a choking, coughing fit, also gasping to breathe.
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I don’t plan on celebrating anything this year for the first time in my life. Any attempt would feel like a cheap, empty imitation. Whatever happens after this year, it won’t look anything like my first five decades with Dad. I’m under no illusions.
It’s hard to imagine a path forward out of just surviving. Standing among the ashes I sometimes wonder what the rest of my life will be like. I recognize there is opportunity, hence the title of this site. But still I wonder if/how I will find meaning, and what will drive me on.