You Rock
To all of you that went to visit Anne, you rock!
To all others, what kind of fucking heartless bastards are you? What do I need to do in order to convince you that visiting her is in your best interest? Okay, how about this: if you don't visit Anne and leave a comment, you can't read this post. You may try, but suddenly you are feeling sleepy and are overcome with an intense desire to expose your genitals to your boss/next door neighbor/pastor/someone that it would be totally inappropriate to display 70's bush or miserable tiny penis to. And yes, I ended my sentence in a fucking preposition. That's how upset your lack of follow through has made me.
Now, onto my story for those of you that ROCK!
Disclaimer
This is a bizarre post. It may cause total disbelief and/or disappointment in my lack of profanity.
Background
My dad's primary cause of death was emphysema. He came down with a lung infection, which turned into pneumonia and was unable to fight it off. In cases of emphysema, the actual disease rarely kills you. It is the secondary infection that takes you out. His mother died the same way. In my family, smoking kills you. Hence, my non-smoker status today. My father was put in a nursing home on Monday, January 9th because he was so sick that he was having trouble getting out of bed. His nurse was worried and I gave her the okay to transfer him from his home. The next day I spoke to him briefly on the phone. Several hours later he fell at the nursing home and broke his hip. They put him on a morphine drip, and I flew into town later that day. Although he did speak to the nurses several times after the fall, by the time I reached his side he was unresponsive except to pain. He died almost 24 hours after I reached Salt Lake City. He never woke up, and although I talked to him I received no response.
Further Back
My dad had a 1970 Chevy truck. He was the original owner. Although the body is in rough condition, it runs and I worked on it in May 2005. My dad was preparing it for the journey back to California when he died, a fact that I did not understand at the time. He never drove it after May. When I visited him in October of 2005, he told me that he needed to show me how to start the truck after it had been sitting for an extended period of time. He never did.
Even Further Back
My dad quit smoking in November 2004. This is important to the main story. No more background, I promise.
January 11th
My father passes away around 8:00pm. Before he passed away I promised him that I will never smoke another cigarette again. I stayed at the nursing home to take care of final details for another couple of hours. This day was my 7 month anniversary of not smoking. Although I am still on the 14mg nicotine patch, I hadn't wanted a cigarette in months. On the way to my dad's house I am struck by an urge to smoke so strong that I almost stopped and BOUGHT a pack. It was so bad that I got home and put on a new patch. I generally put a patch on in the morning and take it off before bed.
I get in my sleeping bag and start to think about the dad, missing my dad. I hear him snoring in his bedroom. Some part of my knows that he is in the house with me (duh, maybe the part that hears snoring?!) and I hope that he doesn't get stuck in this house. Then I cry my fool head off, feel more at peace, and go to sleep.
January 12th
H3.2 flies into Salt Lake City. I tell him that I think my dad is with me. I feel this odd completion inside me that is hard to describe. I'm still terribly sad about my dad's passing, but I know he's not gone. That night, I have to put on a new patch again. The urge to smoke is still VERY strong at times.
January 13th
H3.2 and I attempt to jump start the truck. No dice. The truck just won't start. I call my dad's best friend in California and ask for his help. A little spray of carb cleaner in the carb and rumble rumble we have liftoff. I feel an incredible sense of elation. Then emptiness. My dad is gone.
The moral of the story? I think my dad stayed for that one last thing that he forgot to tell me. Once the truck started, he knew that I would be okay. I know he'll always keep an eye on me, but he's in a better place now.
Bonus
My dad's truck, plus H3.2 (left side) walking down those fateful stairs. WATCH OUT!
To all others, what kind of fucking heartless bastards are you? What do I need to do in order to convince you that visiting her is in your best interest? Okay, how about this: if you don't visit Anne and leave a comment, you can't read this post. You may try, but suddenly you are feeling sleepy and are overcome with an intense desire to expose your genitals to your boss/next door neighbor/pastor/someone that it would be totally inappropriate to display 70's bush or miserable tiny penis to. And yes, I ended my sentence in a fucking preposition. That's how upset your lack of follow through has made me.
Now, onto my story for those of you that ROCK!
Disclaimer
This is a bizarre post. It may cause total disbelief and/or disappointment in my lack of profanity.
Background
My dad's primary cause of death was emphysema. He came down with a lung infection, which turned into pneumonia and was unable to fight it off. In cases of emphysema, the actual disease rarely kills you. It is the secondary infection that takes you out. His mother died the same way. In my family, smoking kills you. Hence, my non-smoker status today. My father was put in a nursing home on Monday, January 9th because he was so sick that he was having trouble getting out of bed. His nurse was worried and I gave her the okay to transfer him from his home. The next day I spoke to him briefly on the phone. Several hours later he fell at the nursing home and broke his hip. They put him on a morphine drip, and I flew into town later that day. Although he did speak to the nurses several times after the fall, by the time I reached his side he was unresponsive except to pain. He died almost 24 hours after I reached Salt Lake City. He never woke up, and although I talked to him I received no response.
Further Back
My dad had a 1970 Chevy truck. He was the original owner. Although the body is in rough condition, it runs and I worked on it in May 2005. My dad was preparing it for the journey back to California when he died, a fact that I did not understand at the time. He never drove it after May. When I visited him in October of 2005, he told me that he needed to show me how to start the truck after it had been sitting for an extended period of time. He never did.
Even Further Back
My dad quit smoking in November 2004. This is important to the main story. No more background, I promise.
January 11th
My father passes away around 8:00pm. Before he passed away I promised him that I will never smoke another cigarette again. I stayed at the nursing home to take care of final details for another couple of hours. This day was my 7 month anniversary of not smoking. Although I am still on the 14mg nicotine patch, I hadn't wanted a cigarette in months. On the way to my dad's house I am struck by an urge to smoke so strong that I almost stopped and BOUGHT a pack. It was so bad that I got home and put on a new patch. I generally put a patch on in the morning and take it off before bed.
I get in my sleeping bag and start to think about the dad, missing my dad. I hear him snoring in his bedroom. Some part of my knows that he is in the house with me (duh, maybe the part that hears snoring?!) and I hope that he doesn't get stuck in this house. Then I cry my fool head off, feel more at peace, and go to sleep.
January 12th
H3.2 flies into Salt Lake City. I tell him that I think my dad is with me. I feel this odd completion inside me that is hard to describe. I'm still terribly sad about my dad's passing, but I know he's not gone. That night, I have to put on a new patch again. The urge to smoke is still VERY strong at times.
January 13th
H3.2 and I attempt to jump start the truck. No dice. The truck just won't start. I call my dad's best friend in California and ask for his help. A little spray of carb cleaner in the carb and rumble rumble we have liftoff. I feel an incredible sense of elation. Then emptiness. My dad is gone.
The moral of the story? I think my dad stayed for that one last thing that he forgot to tell me. Once the truck started, he knew that I would be okay. I know he'll always keep an eye on me, but he's in a better place now.
Bonus
My dad's truck, plus H3.2 (left side) walking down those fateful stairs. WATCH OUT!
posted by Sam at
8:32 PM
13 Comments:
By and far, this is one of the best things I have read on your blog. Absolutely. Not because of the lack of profanity, but because of the sincerity behind the words. I think you should become a writer. No, really, I do.
I can't help but think that this would make an excellent story to send in to either Pimp My Ride, or Overhaulin. I like the latter show better, but who wouldn't want to help restore that old truck after a story like that?
Sam, beautiful description of events... Thank you for sharing this with us all. I know the feeling of having a loved one "stick around". My dad hung on until I told him that I would take care of my mother for him. He had been out of it the hole last day of his life. Then ten minutes later he passed. I did go to Anna's site and left a comment so hopefully I don't suck in your eyes. Talk to you later...
That was beautiful.
Sam - such a beautiful story. I sure do wish I could hug you now. I hope you are doing well and improving each day :)
Thank you so much for sharing such a beautiful and personal story.
Schadeboy- I thought you would appreciate the lack of cuss words. And thank you, so very much for your words of encouragement.
Manblogger- I saw you posted a comment. You never suck!
Kat- awwww. *sniff* Thank you.
Nessa- Blogland hug accepted. I'm doing better, writing about it is helping.
Gerbera- You're welcome. Writing this type of story is the hardest for me. I'm not an emotionally open kind of chick with most people.
hey girl...that was an amazing story. I have felt that my mom has been hanging around at different times and I am never sure if it is because I just want it so bad or if she has some unfinished business.
Thanks again for letting me borrow your friends. They are super cool. :-)
You're the best..and I really enjoy your blog!
Unbelievable story. (I don't mean I don't believe it. Aw, you know what I mean.)
By the way, I did go by Anne's and left a comment before I read the rest of your post. OK, only half of that is true.
what a great story! Beautiful really. I hope the strong urge to smoke lightens up and good for you for quitting!
Sam,
It would be cool for someday me you H3.2 and Gerbera meet up and have a few beers/wine what ever your preference... I hope your doing better.
Ok, I'm crying. Gorgeous post, Sam.
You know, when my grandfather died, my aunt and I "felt" him all the time. He visited us in dreams, sometimes his scent hung in the air like he had just walked by, and sometimes we could just feel his presence.
When my grandmother died, my aunt and I both had the same dream; that they were together and they were SO happy. After that, nothing. He was waiting for her.
I miss them so much.
You know Sam, you are very wise and insightful AND you see... Second sight is very special. You felt your dad still around - and I am sure he was to make sure you took care of things.
My grandfather hung around for weeks, my grandmothers still waltz through my bedroom, I know they are still around for protection and guidance. I think in your dad's passing, he gidted you with helping remove the obsession to smoke, and I call that a blessing.
The good thing is - Your guardian angel will always be with you. With all that you have been through, I think you have come out of this with some serious wisdom to pass on to chicken.
Embrace the living and learn from those passed on, life is all about passing on what you know and who taught you what it is that you know.
I am so proud to be part of your world as I am proud of you for the courage to share this with us.
I wish you lots of peace.
Jeremy
(and I stopped in to see Anne!)
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