Hey, Dad

My father passed away on August 14th, 2001. His passing was a great shock to our family. He was not sick and did not suffer and for this I am very grateful. We were just so very unprepared. He had an aneurysm below his heart, a condition the St. Louis doctor assured us was easily corrected with surgery. He told us my dad was very healthy for his age and would be just fine. I saw my dad the night before his surgery. I gave him my love and talked over plans for our mother’s care while he was recouping.

Later, my sister, Kate, who lives in kentucky, called me. She felt an urgent push to see our dad before his surgery. I agreed to ride with her early the next morning so she could say her, “I love you’s”.  I remember walking into the prep room where they had him waiting in a wheel chair, dressed in a hospital gown and socks. Without his dentures, he looked so vulnerable.  The silent, strong, permanent presence that was my father suddenly seemed so small and helpless. I felt my life tilt a little as I kissed his cheek and felt the moisture of Kate’s kiss lingering there. We said our goodbyes and turned to walk away.

As they wheeled him down the long white corridor, my life tilted more and I felt a panic attack looming. It hit me as I grabbed Kate’s hand and held on. Perhaps it was a premonition of the sorrow that was to hit us in mere hours. We  joined our brothers and sister and innocently waited. Patiently, we scanned magazines, made small talk and joked with each other. Our only care at that time was the post surgery care of our father and our mother who had Alzhiemer’s.

Our world fully tipped and went into an instant spin the moment the doctor gathered us in that little conference room. My father hadn’t made it.  The announcement throttled my close family with pain. Simply picked us up and threw us all. In our grief and shock we dealt with the aftermath in ways we have come to regret. Blindly and without our leader,  we became as walking zombies. We buried our dead and were forced to make decisions we weren’t prepared for. We muddled through it all as we played out the stages of grief. The years have flown by and we have learned more about ourselves then we ever thought possible. We have had  to soul search, to learn to forgive ourselves and each other. It has been a journey none of us could have predicted, a journey that has torn us apart.

My sweet family is still picking up pieces and mending after eleven years. We seem to gather more readily now and revel in each other’s nearness. When I look at my sisters, I feel my sweet mother looking down upon us. In the stance of my brothers, I see my father. I can hear whispers of their voices when the grandchildren giggle.  We talk and tease and laugh and reminisce and  through this tragedy a deeper, closer respect for our unity slowly begins to emerge.

Today, I came across a letter I wrote to my father on the first anniversary of his death.

Hey Dad,

I miss your crooked little smile. I miss the deep tanned creases in your face. I miss you at your place at the table.
I miss the strength that was you.
Today it has been one year but it seems like forever, feels like a nightmare.
I want to talk to you about Levi. I know you aren’t here but maybe you can look down and see what I write.
I feel so bad. Today I took the day off. To enjoy the beauty of nature as you used to, to run and play like when I was your littlest daughter. To be with my son as a parent just like all those summer vacation you alway provided for us.
But, Dad, I found myself angry at him constantly, telling him to stop being a baby, to stop doing that , to stop making that noise. All I really wanted to do is to tell him he’s okay and that I love him. That he’s going to be alright.
Dad, what would you do? How would you lead this little boy who struggles with his handicaps? I want so badly to walk into your front door, sit at your table and listen to your advice.
Hey Dad,
I miss you.

Sara Jane

10 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. painttech
    Jul 31, 2012 @ 15:48:16

    I wish I could have met the man who raised such a special person!


  2. Andrew Rauch
    Jul 31, 2012 @ 15:59:54

    Very good one! Left me crying!


  3. Mo
    Jul 31, 2012 @ 16:09:48

    Oh Sara,I have a lump in my throat…just as I have left a deep hole that formed the day when he left us so soon.


  4. Helen Jane Donsbach
    Jul 31, 2012 @ 17:02:13

    I’m so sorry to read this. We all knew that Uncle Wilfred was having this surgery and like you, were not worried that he wouldn’t have positive results and better health afterward. Our mom and dad were at their sister and brother Erma and Melvin Rauch’s house for a few days. We are double cousins with them like you are with Geneva and Franklin. Mom called to give us the bad news. When she spoke with me, she said that Dad is so upset. When they got the call from Geneva, I believe, her and Erma were upstairs. Dad came to the bottom of the stairs and yelled up at them, Wilfred didn’t make it. He was sobbing uncontrollably. My dad also had an abdominal aneurism at that time. It is highly inheritable and years of smoking hadn’t helped. He was not in good enough health with his vascular system to have that surgery. His doctor at Springield Prairie Heart Center was watching it and waiting for a new medical breakthrough that he thought Dad could withstand–a stint type mechanism that would be placed through a leg valve inside the aneurism. He did have that surgery, and it was extremely scary, when the stint was ready. He since has had the aneurism grow and more stint and adjustment has had to be done. It is checked every so often along with the pacemaker he has now and everything else in there. He calls himself and the pacemaker the Energizer Bunny.


    • Sara
      Aug 01, 2012 @ 00:03:36

      Thank you for reading my blog, Helen. It’s nice to hear another side of our story. Sometimes we get so tied up in our own grief we forget how other’s are affected also.


  5. allison niemerg
    Jul 31, 2012 @ 20:34:22

    This brought tears for me too. I am loving the photos you have with each post. Especially the photos with this post. We all loved him so much and you can see levi’s admiration for his grandpa in that picture. I miss my happy little brother with that twinkle in his eye!


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