Gone

Here it goes.
My dad passed away over a month ago. It's funny that when I'm alone I have all these thoughts that run through my head but now when I'm trying to find closure through writing, nothing comes out. Cammeo advised me to journal, so I'm going to try it out. Let's start from the beginning and hopefully at the end I'll be okay, but most likely, I'll be in tears and alone.
Greg and I went home (my home) for Thanksgiving. My dad had the entire weekend planned for us. Thanksgiving we were going to find a Mandap (indian alter for our wedding). Friday, we were going to select colors and do food tasting. Saturday we were going to sneak into another wedding to see their set-up to help with ideas for decorating and Sunday it would have been time to drive back to Des Moines. We left on Wednesday night after I got back from work. I wasn't completely packed so that set us back a little and then once we were all packed, I believe by 5ish, Greg's car died on the driveway of our apartment building. Triple A came and helped us out so we didn't leave Des Moines until after 7.

I was tired. When I'm tired I'm irritable. My brother called me from my dad's phone that night to see where I was. I didn't talk to my dad because neither one of us asked to talk to other and considering how much my dad and I bicker I didn't want to start the weekend off to a bad start; since I was tired I knew I would be easily annoyed. My thinking was that I would go to my mom's, have a good night's rest and start the holiday weekend off to a great start with my dad. Well, we didn't get in until after midnight. We slept.

The next morning my dad was supposed to pick me up at 10 am. I got up early and was ready to go on time for once! I waited for my dad's phone call. He would usually call me 15 min ahead of time to be sure that I was ready to go when he came to pick me up, but he never called. I had called him earlier that morning when I first woke up to wish him a Happy Thanksgiving and he never picked up his phone. Well, as 9:45 am came and went, I called him. No answer. I called him about five times between 9:45 and 10:20 that I finally decided to go to his house and find out if he was even home. I had Greg wait in the car on the driveway as I ran in. As we drove up, I noticed the light was still on which is very unlike my dad. Then, I ran up the stairs and rang the doorbell...no answer. Rang it again...no answer. I tried to open the door and it was unlocked! I went inside looking for my dad. Yelling for him. The house had an eerie silence to it.We have a split level house so I was just glancing everywhere. I ran downstairs to check the bathroom and the garage. His vehicle was still in the garage and that's when I became really worried. I ran upstairs to see that maybe he was in the bathroom and couldn't hear me. His room door was open, which it never is, looked in there-nothing. Checked the bathroom-nothing. Checked my room, since that is the room with the computer I thought maybe he was busy and was just trying to scare me...but nothing! Then, just as I was about to peek into my brother's room, I had a straight shot look down the stairs into the kitchen and there was my dad. Lying on the floor, on his back, hands beside his head. I ran down the stairs screaming for him. He was cold. No heartbeat, no breathing. Nothing. I frantically called 911 and while on the phone with them I ran outside to get Greg. 911 thought I was crazy b/c I was panicked. I didn't know what to do. They asked me to check my dad's vitals. I knew he was gone, but I wanted hope. I wanted them to have hope for me, but they didn't. After I told them that he was cold with no heartbeat and breaths, they asked me if I still wanted help to come..if it was too late?! Are you kidding me. I told them they had to help me. There had to be a way. So they had me try to resuscitate my dad while help came. I pushed on his chest 100 times before they came. The first few times I did it, it sounded like my dad's voice was coming about...but it was nothing. Nothing brought him back.

Greg had called my mom while I was on the phone with 911. 911 got there before she did and wouldn't let any of my family see him. They removed me from the scene as soon as they got there. My mom had no idea what had happened. My brother thought my dad was just hurt. I knew my dad was dead. I had to be the one to tell them. It looked as if my dad either fell off the chair or tried to get the chair for help and it fell down with him. We have no idea. We found out from one of his doctors that he had a blocked ventricle. That following Monday he had an appointment to see a cardiologist and to get some more tests done. We had no idea he had this problem! I knew he had been sick from other things, but nothing of the heart. I remember my dad telling me months ago that he had pain and thought it was the end of his life. Two things ran through my head...my parents were great at exaggerating and I didn't want to believe it so I didn't take it too seriously. I wish I had. I wish I had done something more. I just don't know. I never got to say goodbye. Does my dad have all his questions answered? All these years he didn't believe in his family...does he now? Does he know we were there for him? He died alone. I hate that. I wish we had known. I wish I could have saved him. I wish I visited him the night before even though it was late. According to his temperature, he had been gone 6-8 hours before I got there. I hate myself. I hate my life. I want to be with my dad. I want to be able to talk to him. He used to call me three times in one day and now, no one calls me. I'm tired of pretending I'm okay. I used to be bubbly, and full of life, and now I feel awful for even smiling. I feel bad for going to the store and buying things. I want my life back, but at the same time I feel like I should be sad forever. I want to forget what happened, but I want my dad to be remembered. I wish this was all a bad dream and I could wake up and my dad would be back. Everything as it used to be...but with a greater appreciation for my dad. I hope he knows I appreciated everything he did for me.

My dad used to tell me that I was selfish. I am selfish. I want him back for me. We had so much planned to do together. We were supposed to travel the world together, we were supposed to dance Bhangra at my wedding, he was supposed to be there at my wedding, we were supposed to put in the wood floors at his house, I was supposed to install software into his computer and show him how to use adobe, I had my daddy almost convinced to move to Des Moines with me. My dad was supposed to be there when I bought my first house, a new car and had a baby way in the future. But no. None of that will happen. I am selfish because I wanted my dad there for all that. People tell me that I should be happy for my dad because he is in a better place. I am very happy he is no longer in pain. Going through his things I found too many doctors' bills and records of what he has been having to go through and heck, that was hell enough to look at let alone have to go through.

I feel like too much doctor care leads to death. Doctors can always find something wrong with you...its like taking your car into the shop. There will never be a time where your car is 100 percent okay. We are just like that. But when doctors keep finding things, keep prescribing medicines and treatments, thats what kills you. Meds are drugs and drugs aren't good for the body and having to go through all the treatments, that is stressful. I'm angry about everything. My dad was only 54. He should have had more time.

His family in India demanded an autopsy. We found out that part of his heart had died months ago, so he had a weak heart. With the blocked ventricle, he was not getting enough blood to his heart and he had another heart attack that morning. His weak heart couldn't take it...and died. He died alone.

Now, I'm afraid...no terrified of death. Not death for me, but for all those around me. I'm afraid to lose anyone else. I'm not sure if I could take it. I pray everyday that my day come soon. I'm done. I ask God why he took my dad and not me. My dad had much more to offer. He was so wise, a hard worker, and a philanthropist. I looked forward to learning more of life lessons from him. Now, its up to me.

I have my mom still and I am very grateful for her. The fact is she is very weak. While at home I have to be very strong for her and my brother and sister. Once I'm alone, I break down. I can't always hold them up, but I have to. I wish my mom would quit feeling sorry for herself and realize that we are all in pain. She needs to go back to work. She needs to realize bills don't get paid when she's not working and it stresses us all out when she does this. She keeps telling us that we don't know how she feels, but I remind her that we lost our dad. We have to move on. We have to keep him in our prayers, share his wonderful stories, but we have to keep ourselves going too. Companion of those outside of our house is the best medicine right now and she doesn't believe it. She too preoccupied with things that don't matter at the moment. I hope she realizes this for herself and my brother. There's a lot of guilt within the family. The truth is that we were never a "happy family." We drove each other nuts, but that was our love. We showed it in different ways, so subtle sometimes it was hard to see. But in retrospect, all that chaos was how I know we loved each other.

My dad's life is over. His stress is gone-which makes me happy for him. Now, our stress has heightened. Life goes on.

I pray to God to keep my family healthy and safe.

More of this chaos later. I'm drained for now.