Grief

My dad is dying.

It hurts so much to see those words written down, but it doesn't make them any less true.

I've been lying to myself for a while now. With all the experience I've had in the nursing field, I'd somehow managed to convince myself that because I've seen others much worse hang on for much longer, that my dad would be one of those people. Now I know that isn't going to be the case.

He's dying.

Maybe not this week. Please God, not before Easter.

His heart is growing weaker. He has congestive heart failure, among other things. Right now, he's in the hospital. He's also diabetic, and his blood sugars have been very high lately. He's also been running a low-grade fever off and on for over a week. His doctor is attributing the fever to an infection that is masked by his lung cancer. I have finally admitted to myself that it is now time for hospice, if he gets out of the hospital. If there is nothing more they can do for him there, he should come home.

I can't bear the thought of losing my dad. Of my son losing his dziadzi. Of my mom without him. I can't stomach the thought of a funeral.

I've dealt with a lot in my life, but nothing has come close to this. My dad is my rock, the one I'm most like. The one who just gets me. I detest the idea of having to be the strong one, the one to hold everyone else's hand and help them through this, when the one person who has always held MY hand is the one to whom I'll be saying goodbye.

I can't imagine a world without him. I don't want a world without him. And yet, that time is drawing near. I feel it deep inside. I'm sitting in my kitchen, and it all seems so foreign to me. My life feels foreign to me at this moment. I don't like it. I want to run to my dad, to hold him, to have him hold me. To tell him I love him again. To hear him tell me he loves me. I need his smile and his gruff words. And it kills me inside to see the defeat in his eyes, when I've always seen love and acceptance.

I don't want to see him sick and suffering. But I need him, and I'm just not ready to say goodbye.

Who will hold my hand when he is gone?