Sitting here typing this post through bursts of tears and an aching heart. I'm choosing to share this so I can heal. I've kept it inside too long. Now I release it and give it over to God.
It had been a long, hard week. All I wanted to do was escape this sudden reality I had been thrown into just weeks before. My heart hurt, my faith was shaken. It felt like my whole world would soon cave in around me. Day in and day out, I was there. We all were. We stayed by your side. Waiting and watching, but most of all praying. Praying for God's intervention. Praying that a miracle would arise out of this nightmarish predicament. Praying for strength and for peace of mind.
We stayed there as the hours clicked on. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. All we could do was wait. You had stopped talking days before. But I will never forget the last thing you uttered to me. I had leaned down to kiss your forehead, ran my hand over your soft grey hair. I told you I loved you, I'd be back the next day, goodbye. I'll hang on to those final raspy drawn out words. I love you too, baby girl.
On June 12th, 2012 we all gathered around you, Dad. But I got tired and my heart was so so heavy. I felt as though I needed a break. All I wanted to do was curl up into myself and stay there until all of this was over. I left early that night, Daddy. Something deep down told me I should have stayed, but I ignored it. I didn't have a chance to say bye to you that night. I will see you in the morning, I thought. Garrett drove me home and the guilt began to rise. I tried my best to push it away. I fell into our bed wanting desperately to drift away to dreamland. I just needed a break. I was hurting so badly.
The next morning, the doctor called to tell us that your breathing had changed throughout the night. She said that we should all make our way over, as soon as possible, to say our final goodbyes. I can't do this, I thought to myself. But I managed to pull it together. I had to speak to him one last time. I had to tell him goodbye since I didn't get a chance the night before. I had to make it up to him. I had to whisper the words in his ear so he'd know I hadn't forgotten about him.
But I was too late. The doctor called again as we were pulling into the parking lot. I was too late. All I remember are flashes of what happened next. My Mom screaming, people looking at us with empty eyes and quickly making our way to the room only to find your worn out body laying, breathless, in that hospital bed. My uncle was sitting beside you, sobbing into his hands. I was too late. I didn't make it. I didn't get to tell you. Those words never had a chance to grace my lips. I'm sorry, Dad.
GOODBYE, FOR NOW.