May 9, 2014
Hello friends,
My brain's defense mechanism against the serious trauma I went through was to erase the memories in order to forget the pain I felt in that time. Although it worked for a few years, the hardest part was realizing I had also lost a lot of the good memories. When I think back to being 15 or anytime before that, it is all foggy and vague. If I knew it was going to be difficult to remember my dad as the years went on, I would've kept a journal or taken more photos or jotted down sentences that could help me. I can ask my mom about certain memories in hopes that it will clear things up for me, but many times she is describing a time through her eyes, which is incredibly different than my experience. There are a few things I remember, but there is always going to be one memory that sticks around.
Although this may feel like the saddest moment, it also was powerful and special, and that's why I don't think my brain could ever let it go.
I stayed up late most nights, unable to sleep with the millions of things flooding my mind. At the end of my father's battle he was still staying in our house, but he was in a hospital bed in the living room. I decided to get up and go check on my mom, who I knew sat with my dad most nights for hours on end. I walked in to see her holding his hand, and she lifted her head for just a second and I knew what was happening. I had walked in on the last few moments on my father's life. I walked over to them and sat down, holding my dad's hand, thinking many different things. How I wanted him to live forever, how I couldn't believe this was happening, why did I walk out at this moment, how hard this must be for my mom... but seeing him struggling to breath all of that went away and I just wanted my dad to let go. I didn't want my dad to go on like this. I felt guilty asking him to take his last breath, but I also know that it'd only be selfish of me to ask him to stay. What was less than 10 minutes felt like years of my life flashing by before his final breath came. My mom laid her head on his chest, and at that moment I felt nothing. I had imagined for the last year what that day would be like. All I can say was that it is nothing as I imagined. My mom went to wake my siblings, who I did not end up seeing for many hours after. I was actually alone for a few minutes with my dad, holding his hand, and took the chance to say some things to him. I told him I was going to go to UCLA to play volleyball because it was my dream, and because I wanted to make him proud of me. I told him I was going to be OK, because the best yet hardest thing is to let someone know that even without them they can achieve happiness. I didn't want my dad to think my life was ever going to be the same without him, but I knew I was not going to waste what he had given me. Sometimes I wonder if I would be at UCLA today if I did not have that moment with my dad, because once I told him that I was 100% going to make it happen.
My mom always tells me how grateful she was to have me there with her at that moment, probably because she felt slightly less lonely in such a tragic moment. I don't think I have or ever will be able to understand how that moment changed me, but I know it did.
peace and love
anne
My brain's defense mechanism against the serious trauma I went through was to erase the memories in order to forget the pain I felt in that time. Although it worked for a few years, the hardest part was realizing I had also lost a lot of the good memories. When I think back to being 15 or anytime before that, it is all foggy and vague. If I knew it was going to be difficult to remember my dad as the years went on, I would've kept a journal or taken more photos or jotted down sentences that could help me. I can ask my mom about certain memories in hopes that it will clear things up for me, but many times she is describing a time through her eyes, which is incredibly different than my experience. There are a few things I remember, but there is always going to be one memory that sticks around.
Although this may feel like the saddest moment, it also was powerful and special, and that's why I don't think my brain could ever let it go.
I stayed up late most nights, unable to sleep with the millions of things flooding my mind. At the end of my father's battle he was still staying in our house, but he was in a hospital bed in the living room. I decided to get up and go check on my mom, who I knew sat with my dad most nights for hours on end. I walked in to see her holding his hand, and she lifted her head for just a second and I knew what was happening. I had walked in on the last few moments on my father's life. I walked over to them and sat down, holding my dad's hand, thinking many different things. How I wanted him to live forever, how I couldn't believe this was happening, why did I walk out at this moment, how hard this must be for my mom... but seeing him struggling to breath all of that went away and I just wanted my dad to let go. I didn't want my dad to go on like this. I felt guilty asking him to take his last breath, but I also know that it'd only be selfish of me to ask him to stay. What was less than 10 minutes felt like years of my life flashing by before his final breath came. My mom laid her head on his chest, and at that moment I felt nothing. I had imagined for the last year what that day would be like. All I can say was that it is nothing as I imagined. My mom went to wake my siblings, who I did not end up seeing for many hours after. I was actually alone for a few minutes with my dad, holding his hand, and took the chance to say some things to him. I told him I was going to go to UCLA to play volleyball because it was my dream, and because I wanted to make him proud of me. I told him I was going to be OK, because the best yet hardest thing is to let someone know that even without them they can achieve happiness. I didn't want my dad to think my life was ever going to be the same without him, but I knew I was not going to waste what he had given me. Sometimes I wonder if I would be at UCLA today if I did not have that moment with my dad, because once I told him that I was 100% going to make it happen.
My mom always tells me how grateful she was to have me there with her at that moment, probably because she felt slightly less lonely in such a tragic moment. I don't think I have or ever will be able to understand how that moment changed me, but I know it did.
peace and love
anne
Comments
Post a Comment