This year has flown by. I have thought about him every single day.
Some days are harder, I hear a song that he loved. Or I look at photo’s that are now just memories. I drive by my parents home, I see a blue mustang, an elderly man in a plaid button down shirt. I see him in a quick glance when I look at Braden. When I bake a new cookie or eat an ice cream cone from the Dairy Queen. Feeding the squirrels in my yard and the blue jays when they call.
Although he is gone, he is everywhere.
Living in a world without him has been hard.
Trying to maneuver through grief has been a very new concept to me. I have had a lot of tragedy in my life. I have grieved the life I thought I was going to have many years ago. Inconsolable with the devastation of a car accident that altered the course of our lives forever. I would say that grief changed everything about the person I am today. There was a lot of loss, but so much more growth during that time in my life.
When someone dies, it’s a different grief. It’s so unchanging, so permanent.
My children and husband are the most important people in my life, I need to be sure they have the best of me. I have been very conscious of how my grieving looks to them. There will come a day when they will live in a world without me. I want them to understand that death is a part of living. It’s going to happen to all of us one day. Although it is devastating, it’s important to keep living. I want my adult children to have the proper tools to grieve in a healthy way. I need them to see me cry, stumble but move on and share funny memories of PaPa. That’s what I hope they do for me.
Let’s go back to the beginning when I realized my dad was going to die and he was admitted to hospice. I’d like to share some conversations we had. Thinking back to these moments are so hard, my heart is heavy. During these moments with him, it was just us. Early mornings when I’d bring him a coffee and a muffin.(that he never really ate, but brought him comfort).
I would bring peanuts and bird seed so they’d come to his door. We’d sit and watch the squirrels and blue jays. Him in his bed, and I in a small chair beside him.
I’ll never forget the feeling of rounding that corner in the hallway of the hospice home, entering his room to the unknown. He always smiled. “Hi hun”, I’d hear him say. With his weakened smile, fading skin tone and those beautiful blue eyes that still made the nurses swoon.
Going back a little further, the weekend leading up to my dad moving into hospice he had gone down hill very quickly. That was an incredibly exhausting weekend for my mom. I did my very best to help out. I stayed with her for a night, so she could get some sleep. Unfortunately, he had two terrible nights. It was like his brain was on fire. I can’t even explain how heavy it was. He didn’t know who I was, he wanted to “go home”. (He was home)
He wasn’t happy with me or my mom. He kept trying to get out of his bed, but was unable to bear weight or walk. He did not understand what was happening, he was clearly not himself. Something was happening in his brain, and it was very scary. He may have been bed ridden but he still had alot of strength. I remember feeling at this time, we don’t have much time with him. And I was so sad he didn’t know who I was. I started missing him immediately. The strongest man I ever knew was withering dimmer before my eyes.
While I was helping him with care on that Saturday night he asked me my name. My heart collapsed and the breath in my lungs depleted, I couldn’t breathe. I did all I could to not break. With tears in my eyes I smiled and said “Christine Macphee”, hoping it would make him see me.
He pondered that, for a minute and asked who my dad was. I said “Allan Macphee” he asked me “Is he from Glacé Bay” I said “yes, he is” then he thought again and asked “is he good dad” I just stopped. And looked at him and said “he’s the best.”
It took so much strength to not cry and tell him “it’s me dad, it’s Chrissy, you don’t recognize me?” Deep down I knew it was the cancer in his brain, but the pain in my heart was excruciating. I had to turn away, and the tears poured.
The night went on and on, no sleep. Not one minute of rest did he or I have. The nurses did come in earlier that night to give us some meds to help him “rest” but truly, I think those meds made him worse.
The next day he settled, and he slept most of it. That gave my mom some time to rest and think through her next step. We all agreed that she couldn’t do this anymore. He needed to be moved, for everyone’s sake. Especially since he didn’t know us, he was uncomfortable, at times argumentative and even slightly combative with nurses. He wasn’t himself, and if he knew that this was happening he’d agree with my mom’s decision to move him to hospice. My mom needed to be able to go be with him during the day, but go home and sleep at night. She needed to take care of herself too.
That Monday they called from Innisfree Hospice and said they had a room for dad. It was a decision made within 15 minutes that he would go.
My dad actually started to come back around again that Monday morning. He was “back to himself” he knew who we were, and understood what was happening. He had no recollection of the events on the weekend. In which, made our choice to move him that much harder.
One thing I need to mention before I continue is this blog is my account of this time in our life. I won’t be mentioning many others, this is mine. I will forever be grateful and thankful for the woman my mom is. She has a strength about her that gives me hope each day. I see her struggle through her loss, I see her fight to move forward. Her account of this time is by far more painful. I am so appreciative that her outlook is healthy. She is remarkable and I am proud to be her daughter. Her story will be different than mine, this was her husband. He was HER forever.
Sending him to hospice was so hard. No one wanted that. But with each day passing he was becoming more bed ridden. He also kept trying to walk, he was always trying to get out of bed. That became a safety concern, and my mom was exhausted. She couldn’t do this anymore, with me by her side we made our way to him as he was transferred.
My dad was strongly displeased. By the time he was transferred he was conscious enough to understand what was happening. He could not bring himself to accept it. He had fought cancer so many times in his life, I truly believe he felt he was going to conquer this too. We knew that wasn’t going to happen, as hard as it was we couldn’t leave my mom to care for him 24/7 anymore.
Truly my dad was uncomfortable at home, my mom was not permitted to give him meds to keep him “consciously sedated”. The nurses were coming and going so frequently that things were being missed.
They had promised that in hospice my dad would be much more comfortable. That brought some alleviation to the situation, we just wanted him comfortable and content.
It didn’t take us long to realize, hospice was the answer to all our worries. I’m not going to lie, having to come to terms with him being there was challenging. I was fearful this hospice home was going to be sorrowful, dark, dreary and so so sad. I had no idea how at peace we were all about to feel.
The staff tending to my dad with a gentle, caring nature that I know brought him a sense of calmness. He settled his first night, with his favourite channel on the TV. He had coffee, cookies, his call bell and proper meds. He was resting, the way he should be.
Even though he was showing signs of acceptance, we could see the concern on his face. We could tell he was thinking, a lot! He didn’t let us know that, he smiled and told us to go home. “I’ll see you in the morning dad”, Love you~
I went back early in the morning the next day, so my mom could sleep in. She was so tired, and I know she was lost too. Everything was hitting us all at once. I brought dad up a coffee and a muffin. I stopped to get some peanuts and bird seed. I have this habit of “keeping busy” when I’m scared or nervous. If I had the seeds, we could talk about that. Keep our minds occupied.
I was so worried walking into that room. Not knowing how he would be, if he would be angry or frustrated. I wasn’t sure I could handle that at this time. I was exhausted.
I had to walk past others who were in the same situation we were in. Each one at different stages of their end of life journey. With every tear-jerking moment I had, there was a soft, smiling and caring staff or volunteer very close to ease any blow I may be experiencing. Although we didn’t initially share many words, their glances, head nods, smiles and pats on my shoulder reminded me of who I was. Straighten up Chrissy, the strength is there.
He was awake the first morning I went in. He looked so tranquil. Calm. The head of his bed was up, he had a bed side table with his breakfast and coffee.
“Where’s my dad”, something I’d yell coming into the house when I’d visit. “Hi hun”, Something he said most of my adult life. We talked about his night, he slept well and was very happy with the nurses, doctors and volunteers. They were all so loving. It really does take a special person to work in hospice care. Every single one of them entered his room with a smile. I could see him light up when his favorite one’s showed up.
I sat with him.
Quietly.
And then he reached out for my hand, and I knew this was going to be one of the hardest conversations of my life. Just him and I. In that moment. After having the previous weekend with him, this was going to be the moment I needed in order to accept when he moves on.
“What happens now?” He asked, holding my hand. I could see the worry in his eyes, but felt the strength in his hand. Oh how I miss that.
My mind went blank, what do you say to a dying man?
I said what I felt he would want to hear. “Well, thats up to you dad.” He listened, and I could almost see his thoughts. I’m not sure if that’s the right response, but I couldn’t say it out loud. I couldn’t tell him he came here to die. My mom always said to me, when things were grim with Braden “where there’s life, there’s hope.” Although it was already written for my dad, and he was going to move on soon, I wanted him to know he was still in control. He always needed to be in control, I wanted him to feel like he still had some.
“I’ll wait for you’s” he said next. I replied “Promise?”
I started to cry at this point. And ever so cooly and in the most Alan Macphee way he responded “well not if you’re gonna cry” lol even now, in this moment crying as I write this it made me laugh out loud. Dry your eyes Chrissy, be present. Live in this moment. And thats what I did.
That did change the air in the room, and I truly feel in my heart it was that moment he accepted his fate.
Sitting beside him in that minute, he was still my dad. That was his parenting style, and I loved every moment of it. “I love you dad.” “ I love you to hun.”
With just the two of us in the room, and still in the moment he asked “Do you believe we’ll all be together again?” Again, speechless…
I went into my heart to answer this, in a way I would want to hear.
“Ya, dad I do.” “They say we come back together in many lives, sometimes we play different roles. Maybe next time I’ll be your sister?” He chuckled, but seemed content with my answer.
Dad : “I’ll watch over you’s”
I replied “will you send me messages?” He said “yah.”
Me: “ Nothing obvious like dimes or feathers, I want it to be something I will know is from you.”
He responded “I’ll send spiders to Braden” lol he was being cheeky as he knows Braden is terrified of spiders. We both laughed at that.
Honestly he couldn’t have given me a better gift in life, I had hoped I would get that kinda of conversation with him. He was always in so much denial about dying. He couldn’t come to terms with it.
This was for me. Maybe somehow he knew I needed it. I love that he felt comfortable with me, forever grateful we shared that time. It was his gift to me. Allowing me the ability to see him off onto his next adventure, until I catch up someday.
I know my parents shared their own beautiful moments during that time. My mom had many hours alone with him where they’d do what they loved most. Listening to music and laughing with the staff of Innisfree hospice. That was who they were. Always singing, dancing and laughing..and always together.
Life is different. We are all different today. His loss has had an impact on each one of us. We are all at different stages of grief. We have each other though, and with that we still move forward. Like he would want.
For me..I’m always looking for my signs. When I do get one, my immediate reaction is an out loud “Hi Dad”~
He’s there, I know he is. He promised he would be.
I love you pops!
Love, Chrissy~
The Grace In Grief 