Heartbreakingly Sad. Heartwarmingly Dad. Part 1

I've really debated about whether or not I want to write about the day that Dad died.

I'm afraid if I try to put that incredibly emotional and beautiful experience into words I'll cheapen it somehow. The last thing I want to do is make it seem like a made for television movie. The problem is as I try to compile my thoughts and memories of that day...I can hardly believe it myself...and I was there.

This may seem macabre, but I sincerely wish we had videotaped that day. If we had I can assure you there would be a whole lot less non-believers in the world!

I will be the first to admit my faith is often less than rock solid. Honestly, I struggle with the fact there are wars, famine, hunger, homelessness, and countless other atrocities in a world where I witnessed first hand an absolute abundance of God's amazing grace.

I can't explain or justify it. All I know is what I witnessed. I believe it was miraculous. Truly.

Let me try and start at the beginning.

Mary Beth called me right after I had dropped Lily off at school. From the tone of Mary Beth's voice, I knew immediately that something was terribly wrong.

Mary Beth told me that Dad had had a heart attack and was being airlifted from Howard County General to Johns Hopkins Hospital. Mary Beth, Patti, and I met at Mary Beth's house and drove to JHH. Don and Mary Catherine drove separately. We arrived at the hospital within minutes of each other.

A doctor met with us immediately and told us we were facing "an end of life scenario". Dad had had a massive heart attack and was currently on a ventilator and a balloon heart pump. In light of Dad's mesothelioma, he was not a surgical candidate. The doctor explained that if Dad survived bypass surgery...which the doctor thought was doubtful...Dad would not have time to fully recover from the surgery before the mesothelioma would take his life. It truly was a lose/lose proposition.

At this point Dad was not responsive and the doctor talked to us about turning off Dad's life support when we were ready. We all agreed that was the right thing to do and we went into Dad's room to spend some time with him. Much to everyone's surprise, not long after we were in the room Dad opened one eye...looked around the room...and then opened his other beautiful blue eye.

It was immediately obvious that Dad was very much present. We explained to Dad where he was and what had happened.

Dad began to gesture to us almost immediately and quickly explained (through gestures) that he was sorry he hadn't called us. He gestured that he had called 911 and then they kept his phone line open and we wasn't able to make additional phone calls.

The doctor came in and very compassionately explained to Dad what had happened and that they really weren't going to be able to help him. Via plenty of thumbs up Dad tried to assure the doctor that he was feeling really good. The doctor explained to Dad that the reason he was feeling so good is because there were machines doing all the hard work for him and those machines were not going to be able to carry the load much longer.

It was obvious that what the doctor was trying to tell Dad was not really sinking in. At this point Mary Beth stepped in. Mary Beth lovingly put her hands on Dad's face, looked him in the eye, and told Dad this would be the day that he saw God. At first Dad shook his head "No", but then you could almost see this wave of acceptance come over Dad. It was so beautiful. Truly indescribable.

Shortly after the doctor spoke to Dad we asked a priest to come in. After the priest anointed Dad, Dad very clearly mouthed, "Good Man." The priest got quite a kick out of that.

The priest then gave all of us 4 things to do as our "homework". To be honest, I don't remember each of the 4 things exactly...but basically...he asked us to tell Dad we loved him, forgive Dad for any grudges we might be harboring, share happy memories, and give Dad permission to go.

We did our best to do our "homework", but Dad had other ideas.

If I remember correctly, it was just about then that the craziest game of Cardiac Care Unit Charades began. Dad had A LOT of things he wanted us to know. For several hours Dad gestured and wrote notes to us. I can't remember everything that transpired in the next few hours, but here are a few of the things Dad shared with us:

Dad told us what lottery numbers he wanted us to play - straight and boxed.

Dad shared with us that it was better to die this way because it would be fast and the mesothelioma would take longer.

Don and Dad reminisced about when Don was little and Dad would take him on jobs with him in Western Md. Dad wrote notes about where they would have lunch, stop for supplies, spend the night, and more.

Dad wanted to make sure we didn't forget to put out the recycling. (No, I'm not kidding.)

Dad gave us explicit instructions for a donation he wanted to make and what the note that accompanied the donation should say.

Dad told us how much money his company was owed and from what customers. Dad also told us what invoices he had outstanding to pay.

Dad gave us specific instructions for the family picnic including how many hamburgers to make and what size they should be, how many hot dogs (regular and polish), how much beer and to remember to buy some O'Douls for Uncle Bernie.

Dad told us if he looked good keep the casket open...if not - close it.

Oh, and Dad wanted to wear the purple tie he had worn to Clare and Ryan's wedding.

Dad wanted to wear his AOH Division 5 sash and he wanted an American flag on his casket.

Dad told us what funeral home he wanted to use if we weren't too keen on his other ideas of either being viewed at his house or the attractive alternative of shoving a ham bone someplace unmentionable and letting a pack of hungry dogs take care of the rest.

Dad told us what hymns he wanted sung at his funeral. Trust me Dad gesturing "On Eagles Wings" was really priceless.

Dad told us he wanted a big, Big, BIG, party after his funeral and he wanted us to have A LOT of homemade Irish Cream. Dad also gestured that we didn't need to buy any Jameson because he had 3 bottles of it at home.

This crazy game of charades and note writing went on for several hours. There were moments of incredible frustration when we couldn't understand Dad and there were moments of crazy, hysterical laughter.

Throughout the day Dad's hospital roomed filled with people who loved him and whom he loved. All of Dad's son-in-laws were there and all of Mary Beth and Ed's children...including the newest member of the family.

Clare assumed a new role that day - one I'm sure she never expected - that of Family Scribe. Clare took copious notes on everything Dad shared with us.

At some point the doctor came in and told Dad that they could try and extubate him and he might be able to talk with us. Dad definitely wanted to try. The doctor warned Dad that it would be difficult and there would be lots of coughing, gagging, etc. The doctor assured Dad that they would be there to keep him comfortable.

Before they came in to extubate Dad he let us know through gestures that he wanted all of us...except Mary Beth...to leave the room. Apparently, Dad was afraid that Patti and I might faint. Unfortunately, I completely misunderstood what Dad was gesturing and thought he wanted us to bow before we left the room.

Oh, if you could've seen the expression on Dad's face. Of course, I realize now how completely absurd it is to think Dad wanted us to bow before we left the room...but I wasn't at my best...and I'm quite certain Dad thought I had completely lost my mind!! By the way, Dad was right. I had completely lost my mind...and a huge part of my heart.

I wasn't in the room when Dad was extubated, but instead of the difficult, coughing, gagging scenario the doctor anticipated Dad handled it effortlessly. Mary Beth told us the first thing Dad said was, "Piece of cake!"

I'll share more about what Dad said when he could speak and more about the rest of the beautiful time we shared together in another post.