Letters By Your Bedside #1

This is the second day of my visit Daddy. I’m tired. My back hurts from the long drive. Almost 15 hours. I slept on grandma’s couch last night just trying to get some rest. My body isn’t cooperating and for the first time, I feel older. I keep hearing you say “Help Me” from the trach in your throat even though you’re out of it.

Your voice is still the same. Somewhat different. Tired. I hear the exhaustion from the last 7 weeks in every breath you take. Every sound you make. The congestion. It sounds worse than when Munch was a baby and I had to give him the nebulizer treatments.

Six. That’s the number of treatments that they are giving you. To reduce the congestion. Help with the secretions. What the hell are secretions? I know it’s rhetorical. I’ve spoken to the doctors. I’ve researched everything. It’s just exhausting.

I touched your hair. I don’t remember the last time I touched your hair. I felt like a little girl rubbing my Daddy’s head. I love feeling your hair. It is so soft. I realize that we have the same hair texture. I didn’t know it. I’m 44 and I think I just realized this. I’m going to snip a piece of your hair before I leave so that I’ll remember it. To remember you.

The tubes are overwhelming. You remember me one day and the next you don’t.  I think what scares me is that you won’t remember me ever again. Hell, will you remember me tomorrow? I’m not sure but I pray that you do. I sit here beside your bedside praying that you can get a few hours of sleep. Rest. I just want you to close your eyes Daddy and let your mind relax.

I’m praying Daddy. I’m praying that God is with us in this room and that all the constant visits are not for show because I’m here but because they genuinely care. The smiles. Everyone is so happy and I wonder are they always this happy? Because sometimes I feel like I’m I a weird movie.

A movie that allows me to watch my Daddy slowly fade to black. A horror film? I don’t know. I just want to get to the good parts because there have to be better days, right?

These are stream of consciousness posts that I’m writing as I sit in the hospital and watch my father deteriorate. It’s painful, but I’m here and when he’s sleep I’m writing. – TT

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