Love Knows No Limit

“Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything. Love still stands when all else has fallen.”―Blaise Pascal

It's Saturday, February 9th, 2013. Two weeks ago, I received a call around 4:30 a.m. telling me that my dad had fallen, and hit his head. He was rushed to Burlington Hospital, and then took flight for life to St. Luke's hospital due to severe brain trauma. As soon as we got the call, my boyfriend and I packed a suitcase and got in the car. We stopped to get air in the tires, and I picked up Starbucks across the street from the BP we were at. It was silent and cold. I couldn't help but think, "Is this it?"

Is this how I will remember my dad's final days? I pushed myself to be optimistic because this wasn't the first time we had gotten a call like this. Less than a year ago my dad had been rushed to the hospital due to a heart complication that led to kidney failure. He made a miraculous recovery. The difference then was that the doctors had a plan. There were options. Lots of options, and many possible outcomes.

Before talking to the doctor my sister and I had agreed that we would give the go ahead for any surgery or procedure necessary to bring my dad back.  This time though, when we talked to the doctor, there weren't multiple options. There weren't numerous treatment plans or procedures. We could either give them permission to start surgery, or we could let him die a natural death. The surgery would relieve the pressure from the blood building up, but because he was bleeding on both sides of the brain, it would be a miracle if my dad survived. If he did survive the surgery, there would be no chance of a meaningful recovery. Either option meant the same outcome. My dad would not be coming back to us this time. 

My sister and her boyfriend began their race from Kentucky, and we from Minnesota. Our drive is roughly 6 hours, theirs 7. We all made it to the hospital a little after noon. My dad's fiance Gloria was there, and so were many of my dad's friends. We had decided to wait on surgery, because my sister and I knew my dad would not want to end up in a coma as a vegetable. We had that conversation many times with him. I think we both knew that this was the end, but neither of us could bear the thought of putting him through surgery and having him pass away before we could get there to see him. 

Once we arrived, the doctors came to talk to us in person, and told us the same thing. Dad was on blood thinners, so the bleeding started easily. The trauma he incurred from the fall was significant. Neither of the doctors we talked to could in good conscientiousness recommend surgery, in fact one had said that if it was his own father, he would not do the surgery. We still took our time with the decision because we didn't want to have any regret. Of course it's impossible not to wonder if he could have been a miracle case, but it was a time where we had to make a decision based off of what we knew my dad would have wanted. My dad always said that when it was his time to go, it was his time to go, and that he would be ready. Of course it never feels like the right time for those of us who are left behind. How could we let go, how could we let him leave us behind? 

In the end we all agreed, family and friends, that my dad would want to go naturally. It was the hardest decision I have ever had to make. With my mom, she made the decision for us, and that was hard in different ways.

My dad passed peacefully. We had the ventilator taken off on Sunday afternoon, and we stayed with him in his room all night. We slept little and poorly, listening to the steady rhythm of his breaths. In the morning on Monday, we listened to a few slow breaths, and then his heart gave out very peacefully. 

It still doesn't feel entirely real. The outpouring of love and support for our family has been incredible. There were the natural family hiccups and issues, but overall things worked out the best they could. 

So here I am. In less than four years, mom passed away, grandma passed away, and now dad. I feel as positive as I can though. I know it won't be easy. I know in the coming weeks the numbness and feelings of shock will wear off. I know there will be tears, and darkness. Right now though I can feel everyone's positive energy wishing us the best, and I know my sister and I will get through it.

It's hard to let go of what you thought the future would hold. We had plans, and dreams. My dad was supposed to get married to Gloria. We were making new traditions, and our family was finally healing from previous losses. We still have things to look forward to though. We will still visit Gloria and keep in touch with people from where we grew up. We still have so much love in our lives, and a long and brilliant future ahead of us. 

After my mom died, it took a long time before I felt ready to face life again. Only in the last 6 months did I start to truly feel like I was ready to live my best life. I still feel that way. For the sake of both of my parents, and all my loved ones, I am not going to let this send me backward. My dad lived his life to the fullest, he survived unimaginable things, and he always endured. I want to live like that. 

It's corny, but I know that my parents both live on in me. In my sister. We were given a very blessed and happy childhood, we had wonderful relationships with our parents. We were a close family, and we got to experience unconditional love in ways many people never get to experience in their lives. We can pass that on to other people. I don't want to live afraid of what might come. The world is far from perfect, and it can be devastating. Terrible things happen. In the end though, we always have a choice. 

At some of my darkest moments, I have given myself the choice. I can either end my life, or I can choose to live, with conviction. Until I die, I can never know what, if anything comes after death. But for now, I know there is still so much of life left for me. I may not know where it will take me, but it's the unknown I am choosing to see through.