Father
Today I'm trying a new feature: a post by a guest blogger. My guest blogger today is Alex Smith, who some of you may know to be my significant other. He asked me if I would be willing to let him write something on this blog, and after reading what he had to say I was glad to do so. I hope that it has been helpful in the grieving process. Love you Alex. <3
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This blog post will certainly be different from those written by the lovely Meghan. After all, I am not Meghan—I am, for lack of better wording, extremely different from Meghan (yet she tolerates me...). I’m Meghan antithesis, but you know what they say about magnets...
Anyway, to begin this blog post, I’ll be covering a topic we all are aware of, in a general sense. It is not until we become acutely aware of it, however, that it sits at the front of our mind for many seconds of many hours of many days.
Death.
Estimates say that approximately 100 billion humans have ever lived, meaning something to the order of 90% of them are no longer living. Every single human to come before us, to live presently, and to live after us—until a meteor takes us out, or we get raptured, or some long-term extinction event happens—is unique. Every single one has a unique genetic code that gives them their physical characteristics, and possibly their mental characteristics.
Most importantly, every human being is mentally unique, with their own thoughts, fears, hopes, dreams, etcetera. Every single one, even the ones we simply pass on the street once in our lives, has a life as vivid as ours, and that can be easy to forget.
My father was one such human being. One in 100 billion, one in 7.53 billion currently alive, and one in 330 million Americans. My father passed away on Thursday, April 18th, 2019 at 10:48 P.M.
And I must say, in my short 22 years of life, this is the hardest thing to happen so far. It may be the hardest thing to ever happen.
I loved my father and he loved me. We never mentioned it, as guys are wont to do, but it was there. He did his absolute best raising me in the time he had with me. He was not perfect, but nobody lives up to that label. He was the best he could be, and I would say that’s all we can expect of anyone.
Death is part of life and he had been diagnosed with melanoma in Summer 2017, it metastasized in December 2018, putting him out of work, to his lungs.
“You will likely be short of breath for the rest of your life,” doctors told us.
The shortness of breath got worse in early April. On April 6th, he was hospitalized again with some significant progression of the cancer. It was my 22nd birthday, and all he kept saying as he called me telling me I needed to bring some things to the hospital was “I’m sorry for ruining your birthday. I’m so sorry for ruining it. I’m sorry.”
I do not care about birthdays, they are another day out of the year. I do care about my father.
I left work to go and see him in the hospital, and he was weak. Over time he’d gotten weaker, especially being out of work. He was sitting up, though, and he was talking to me. He was released three days later, and it took him an hour to stand up out of bed. We confirmed he was ready to be discharged, because it didn’t seem like it, but they insisted they’d done all they could. Maybe they had.
On April 16th, he was again hospitalized after being found unresponsive. His liver had failed and high ammonia concentrations in his blood lead to delirium, with them eventually leading to coma and death.
On April 18th, I signed “Do Not Resuscitate” paperwork and had him moved to hospice. We knew that he would not make it to the end of 2019, but I had some delusional hope that he could come home, even for a short while. We could watch some movies, eat dinner, and all the fatherson things I’d love to do with him. Two hours later, he died.
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This post has been uniquely devoid of any religious context. My father was strongly agnostic, and I am agnostic with a lean towards atheism.
So, what happens? My father, in his last couple months, did mention feeling some temptation to stop at one of the many churches in Cleveland. I don’t know if he ever did or if he found God.
A benevolent God, I like to think, would look at his life rather than his religious beliefs. He never officially declared to be religious in any manner, but he lived a good life. Pious, no, but good.
I like to think if there is an afterlife, I will be reunited with him and we can have more time together for father son things.
I will find out some day. My father found out recently.
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My dad loved me, and I loved him. He was one in one, and I miss him.
_______________________________________________
This blog post will certainly be different from those written by the lovely Meghan. After all, I am not Meghan—I am, for lack of better wording, extremely different from Meghan (yet she tolerates me...). I’m Meghan antithesis, but you know what they say about magnets...
Anyway, to begin this blog post, I’ll be covering a topic we all are aware of, in a general sense. It is not until we become acutely aware of it, however, that it sits at the front of our mind for many seconds of many hours of many days.
Death.
Estimates say that approximately 100 billion humans have ever lived, meaning something to the order of 90% of them are no longer living. Every single human to come before us, to live presently, and to live after us—until a meteor takes us out, or we get raptured, or some long-term extinction event happens—is unique. Every single one has a unique genetic code that gives them their physical characteristics, and possibly their mental characteristics.
Most importantly, every human being is mentally unique, with their own thoughts, fears, hopes, dreams, etcetera. Every single one, even the ones we simply pass on the street once in our lives, has a life as vivid as ours, and that can be easy to forget.
My father was one such human being. One in 100 billion, one in 7.53 billion currently alive, and one in 330 million Americans. My father passed away on Thursday, April 18th, 2019 at 10:48 P.M.
And I must say, in my short 22 years of life, this is the hardest thing to happen so far. It may be the hardest thing to ever happen.
I loved my father and he loved me. We never mentioned it, as guys are wont to do, but it was there. He did his absolute best raising me in the time he had with me. He was not perfect, but nobody lives up to that label. He was the best he could be, and I would say that’s all we can expect of anyone.
Death is part of life and he had been diagnosed with melanoma in Summer 2017, it metastasized in December 2018, putting him out of work, to his lungs.
“You will likely be short of breath for the rest of your life,” doctors told us.
The shortness of breath got worse in early April. On April 6th, he was hospitalized again with some significant progression of the cancer. It was my 22nd birthday, and all he kept saying as he called me telling me I needed to bring some things to the hospital was “I’m sorry for ruining your birthday. I’m so sorry for ruining it. I’m sorry.”
I do not care about birthdays, they are another day out of the year. I do care about my father.
I left work to go and see him in the hospital, and he was weak. Over time he’d gotten weaker, especially being out of work. He was sitting up, though, and he was talking to me. He was released three days later, and it took him an hour to stand up out of bed. We confirmed he was ready to be discharged, because it didn’t seem like it, but they insisted they’d done all they could. Maybe they had.
On April 16th, he was again hospitalized after being found unresponsive. His liver had failed and high ammonia concentrations in his blood lead to delirium, with them eventually leading to coma and death.
On April 18th, I signed “Do Not Resuscitate” paperwork and had him moved to hospice. We knew that he would not make it to the end of 2019, but I had some delusional hope that he could come home, even for a short while. We could watch some movies, eat dinner, and all the fatherson things I’d love to do with him. Two hours later, he died.
---------------------------------------
This post has been uniquely devoid of any religious context. My father was strongly agnostic, and I am agnostic with a lean towards atheism.
So, what happens? My father, in his last couple months, did mention feeling some temptation to stop at one of the many churches in Cleveland. I don’t know if he ever did or if he found God.
A benevolent God, I like to think, would look at his life rather than his religious beliefs. He never officially declared to be religious in any manner, but he lived a good life. Pious, no, but good.
I like to think if there is an afterlife, I will be reunited with him and we can have more time together for father son things.
I will find out some day. My father found out recently.
-----------------------------------
My dad loved me, and I loved him. He was one in one, and I miss him.
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