Daddy

The day my world fell apart was a crisp day in October of 1995. I was just a seven year old girl and everything in my little world was perfect. I had no idea what triple by pass surgery was, all I knew is that there was something wrong with my daddy and the doctors were going to fix him all up. The day he was suppose to come home, I had to ride the bus home from school because my mom couldn’t pick me up because she was getting him. All day I was so excited because my daddy had been gone for 3 days and I loved him and all I wanted to do was jump up in the big lap of his and hug him.1

When I got home no one was there, this was excepted because it was only 3 and they surely wouldn’t get home until 5. I sat down at the dinner room table and got to work on my homework. Sheesh writing 10 sentences with my spelling words was hard work, and I really needed help, but no one was around to help. The hours went by, and slowly the house began to darken. I closed the currents in the living room and ran down the hall to my little bedroom. I slammed my door and jumped on my bed, and for the first time in 3 years, I cried. My mom was not home with my beloved daddy and it was getting late. I looked over at my scooby doo clock and it said 7:21 P.M. An hour past dinner. I got myself up off my bed and walked to the kitchen to make my dinner. It was a good thing I knew how to work the microwave. I stood on the little stole my dad had bought me, because I was too short to reach things around the kitchen, I pulled my Kid’s cosine out of the freezer and replaced the stole where I gotten it from. 2

When it was done I went into the living room and sat in my daddy’s big blue Lazy-Boy and ate my dinner and watched T.V. Hey Dude was on and I sat in the darkness and watched.3

I was starting to get scared because they should have been home by now. I cleaned up my dinner mess and turned off the T.V. The house had grown cold and the dark. Suddenly the realization that I was really all alone after dark in the house set in, and the thought chilled my bones. 4

Walking down that hall had never taken so long in my short life. I turned left when I reached the bathroom and I brushed my teeth and put my pajamas on. My favorite ones, they had barbie on the front, and she was at the beach having a grand ol’ time.5

I didn’t wanted to sleep in my bed, so I went into my parents room and climbed into their bed. It was always warm no matter what and smelled of my daddy. I of course had my simba with me, because till this day I never go a night without him. 6

I didn’t realize how tired I really was until my head hit that big fluffy pillow. No goodnight Kiss tonight, I thought, but I was a big girl now and I didn’t need one. And as that last thought exited my head, the fears entered. I put my head further into the pillow and cried. I was seven and alone in a big house that cricked in the night. An uneasy sleep washed over me and that night I began the art of growing up.7

As it turned out, my daddy had a stroke during surgery. Well three to be exact. He was brought home four days later, but never to be the man I adored again. He couldn’t walk without a walker, or even remember my name. Nor could he feed himself or dress himself. It was like the hands of time had turned him back into a baby.8

I was so frustrated that he couldn’t take me on my bikes rides, or walks to Barry’s Market to get ice cream on summer nights. I really didn’t understand what had happened to him. But I helped, because after all he still was my father even if he couldn’t remember my name. I made him his dinners and put him to bed every night while my mom was at work.9

As I grew up he was still the same, no improvements. But there was never going to be any improvements the doctors said. But now as I write this a huge sense of guilt fills my heart, for I always thought of my daddy as a burden after his strokes. I had to be home every day at 3 to take care of him which left no time for myself. And at times it was horrible having to take your father to the bathroom, or change his clothes when he had “accidents” which towards the end of his life was very frequent. But I had no choice.10

After all the years of taking care of him, I only have one real memory of him before the strokes. I was about six and I was with my mom picking him up from work. The image always comes to my mind picture perfect. It was pouring down rain which it always seems to do in northern california. He was walking towards our old beat up 87 burnco that my daddy couldn’t bare to part with. He was dressed in his Gold Gate Transit uniform which consisted of black pants and a nice button up white shirt. He was carrying an umbrella in his right hand, it wasn’t up but neatly tucked under his arm. As he got closer to the car, be began to dance, which in turn made me giggle with delight. My mom rolled down the window and we discovered he was singing, “Singing in The Rain.”11

And after that one last memory, my mind goes blank. I blame a lot of my missing memories on my past. The years of abuse, physical, mental, and sexual.12

But as for the night he died, it was as clear as yesterday. 6: 26 P.M. on December 23, 2000. He was home laying in the hospital bed he was brought home in after a final doctors visit. It would be the last time he ever left the house. The night before, he was fine he kissed me good night and told me he loved me, and that would be the last words I’d ever hear him say. The next morning, the 23, he could not speak. I remember my mom waking me up and telling me, “Today is the day Meghan.” I walked down that hall and saw him laying there on that bed. I said “Hi daddy,” no repose, just harsh breathing. I knew he could hear me. I picked up his hand and held it as tight as I could, and I swear on everything that i love, he squeezed back. 13

As the day progressed my aunt and uncle showed up. They brought me my christmas gifts, a camera. I wanted to take pictures of my daddy but my mother yelled at me and told me that she doesn’t want me remember him like he is. So no pictures. It was getting late in the evening and it was dark outside. My uncle and I were in the living room, I was sitting next to my daddy and we were watching “A christmas Carol,” I still can’t watch that now. My mother and aunt were down the hall in another room because my mom couldn’t bare the sight of my dad. All of a sudden I hear a spark breathing, “fish out of water” is the only way I could think of to describe it, it was my father breathing his last couple of breaths.14

My uncle and I exchanged a look of tare and he looked at me and said, “Meghan he wont go until he knows you’ll be fine, and you don’t want him to lay there and suffer do you?” With that he ran down the hall to get my mother. I sat on the couch, unable to move for a moment, I just stared at my daddy. I finally got up and put my head on his heart and listened it for a moment. I moved my head up and kissed his forehead and whispered, “It’ll be ok daddy, I’ll be fine you just go to heaven and wait for me.” With that, after  7 years of pain and suffering, he was gone.15