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Two years ago last night I did one of the most difficult things I've ever done - I signed my father's DNR. I spent that night completely unable to sleep, so sure the phone was going to ring with "the news" before my brother could get into town. I think at one point, while I was signing, I actually told the witness on the DL that my brother was scheduled to come the next afternoon, so, you know, they could, you know.
But we didn't get the call, and Dad held on until Rick got to spend a couple of minutes in the room, which was and still is a great source of comfort to me. They didn't always have the greatest of relationships and I just didn't want things to go down that way. Dad and I were always closer, I suppose, than Dad and Rick, and in fact, I couldn't really stay in the room at all when he was in the ICU because every time I was around, he got incredibly agitated. I was worried that somehow I would do him in, so I took a backseat to all of the other visitors and goodbye-sayers.
It's so hard to know, sometimes, that my Jennifer and I are only really able to be where we are today - with a house of our own in a new town and a baby on the way - because we lost my Dad. It's hard because out of everyone in my family, I think he would have been the most tickled on both counts, house and baby. Dad always wanted me to have a baby, and while he was cool with the fact that I told him it would never happen, I think he held out a secret hope. And I think he gets some pleasure out of being right, but I bet he wishes he had the opportunity to be a grandfather.
Now that having a baby is right around the proverbial corner and I can't imagine going back, I guess I have to understand that things happen for a reason and all we can do is go forward and make the best of everything. But that sure doesn't mean I don't wish I could have both, and I know we would have found a way to make it work. You sure didn't have to die to con me into having a baby, you stubborn, irreverent man. ;)
I suppose in a lot of ways it's fitting that Jen and I are going to a baseball game this evening. It was somewhat of a coincidence, I suppose, but one of which I won't miss the significance.
But we didn't get the call, and Dad held on until Rick got to spend a couple of minutes in the room, which was and still is a great source of comfort to me. They didn't always have the greatest of relationships and I just didn't want things to go down that way. Dad and I were always closer, I suppose, than Dad and Rick, and in fact, I couldn't really stay in the room at all when he was in the ICU because every time I was around, he got incredibly agitated. I was worried that somehow I would do him in, so I took a backseat to all of the other visitors and goodbye-sayers.
It's so hard to know, sometimes, that my Jennifer and I are only really able to be where we are today - with a house of our own in a new town and a baby on the way - because we lost my Dad. It's hard because out of everyone in my family, I think he would have been the most tickled on both counts, house and baby. Dad always wanted me to have a baby, and while he was cool with the fact that I told him it would never happen, I think he held out a secret hope. And I think he gets some pleasure out of being right, but I bet he wishes he had the opportunity to be a grandfather.
Now that having a baby is right around the proverbial corner and I can't imagine going back, I guess I have to understand that things happen for a reason and all we can do is go forward and make the best of everything. But that sure doesn't mean I don't wish I could have both, and I know we would have found a way to make it work. You sure didn't have to die to con me into having a baby, you stubborn, irreverent man. ;)
I suppose in a lot of ways it's fitting that Jen and I are going to a baseball game this evening. It was somewhat of a coincidence, I suppose, but one of which I won't miss the significance.
