oh my father, part 1

Well, I suppose it's about time to talk about August. August started out as could be expected; I went to 11-year-old camp with others in the Stake Primary and folks from the Everett and Shorelines stakes. It was fine, I had a nice time getting to know everyone and camping and leaving the kids with Grandma. Thanks for Eileen for coming by for the weekend.

On August 9, Saturday, I got a call from my brother Kurt. We were in the middle of grilling some chicken and corn on the cob for a BBQ. Kurt says to me, kinda frantically, "Um, you need to go upstairs and pray, right now. Something's wrong with dad and he's in the hospital in Atlanta. Brad called me. He's there with Mom."

My heart skipped a beat... I definitely wasn't expecting this. Over the next hour I was upstairs, praying fervently. I posted a plea for prayers on Facebook. I called Brad and his wife Leslie and Kurt probably a million times. Text messages from Brad said things like, "they shocked him a few times. unresponsive. not good." I just couldn't believe my eyes or my ears!

It had been less than an hour of frantic praying and short, partially informative phone calls, when in the middle of sitting down and trying to eat I finally got a call from Brad himself.

I went into our laundry room, where I listened to him say, "Angela, our father has passed away." I stared at the ceiling, at the fluorescent lights that my father put in less than 2 months ago. Lights I really love. And I heard those words echo, "Angela, our father has passed away."

When you hear those words, your first reaction is just unbelieving. They must be mistaken. They must still be working on him. This can't be final. This can't be happening. It's not real. Not real. Not real.

It had been 45 minutes total, from Kurt's phone call warning me there was a problem to Brad's phone call telling me he was gone. Less than 1 hour for my whole life to change.

Dad was 57 years old. I was 33 years old. I'm not ready for this. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. Shane's father is well into his 70s... Grandpa Twining died in July and he was 87, that's 30 more years on this planet that my dad was supposed to have.

I came out of our laundry room and my face had fallen. Shane knew and he came and held me as I sobbed. The rest of the day just passed. I don't think I ate anything. I curled up on my bed and stared at the wall. The tears came and went. I posted something on Facebook, not to get attention to myself, but in the process of tagging Dad's name then all of HIS friends would see this big status update for his life. It was more to make sure everyone knew. Close friends called to offer support, but I didn't have much to say.

It was awful.

I called Brad a few times, because I wanted to talk to Mom. When she finally called me, she told me I was the first person she talked to. Oh my mom, I love my mom.

Here is Dad's story:

Brad moved from Maryland to Atlanta. They needed some help, so Brad drove his minivan down to Atlanta and Dad and Mom drove the moving truck. They had a lovely trip, they did it in two days I think. They got to Brad's new place in the afternoon of the 9th, and the local missionaries helped unload. Afterwards, they sat around talking about missionary work (Dad was the Ward Mission Leader in Salisbury) and eating pizza. Mom said Dad was having a great time, he loves being social and visiting. Everything was 100% ordinary.

Mom and Dad had a hotel room for the night, and they were going to drop off the U-Haul. Mom was going to just follow Dad in the minivan when Dad dropped off the U-Haul, and Brad was going to stay behind and get some rest, but something told Brad to go along. The plan was for Dad to put gas in the U-Haul and Mom and Brad took the minivan to the U-Haul place and wait for Dad.

Mom and Brad passed Dad at the gas station, filling up the U-Haul. They got to the U-Haul place and waited. and waited. and waited. Brad even remarked to Mom, "wow, what's taking Dad so long?" Finally, the U-Haul pulled in and Dad stumbled out of the U-Haul, struggling to get over to the minivan. He said to them, "I can't breathe, I can't breathe, go to a hospital."

I should interrupt this story to say that I knew my dad was struggling with congestive heart failure, as a result of having decades of undiagnosed, untreated hypertension. He was diagnosed with the heart failure and high blood pressure in October 2013, after having some serious problems and finally searching for answers. His doctor had been working with him to get things under control, and his doctor never expressed concern that his life was in danger. Well, maybe that is only somewhat true... my dad has a physical job as an electrician, so the doctor explicitly stated that if it wasn't for the physical nature of his work, he would probably be dead.

Congestive heart failure can be symptomatic in different ways according to which quadrant is affected, but my dad's failure featured symptoms of fluid filling in the lungs. He'd get fluid in there after exerting himself, and he'd have to calm down, lay down, hack and cough for awhile, etc., while the fluid went down. He'd had several "attacks" before but they were more of a nuisance than a real medical emergency, I think.

Well, Mom and Brad were surprised to see Dad having an attack, and a super bad one at that. It was raining cats and dogs. Just pouring buckets. Dad got into the car and Brad went over to the U-Haul to lock it up, grab the keys, etc. He found a hospital 6 miles away, but at 6 PM on a Saturday in Atlanta, it was an impossible drive. Mom said she'd never seen Dad have an attack this bad. Mom started praying while Brad kept trying to keep Dad responsive. Brad said he was back there coughing and groaning, saying things like, "My God, My God." Before too long Brad noticed Dad was quiet, which was a bad sign. He was slumped over and fluid was coming out of his mouth.

Brad pulled into a gas station and called 911. One kind person held an umbrella over Brad while he did some chest compressions on Dad. A nurse was there who was helpful. The gas station attendant gave Brad the address since he had no clue where he was.

It hurts to write this story. I can only imagine how Dad felt. I know we all have to go through death, and for most of us it will be uniquely personal, and it just pains me that Dad had to face this on his own. It makes me so very glad that Mom and Brad were there, and that they were there together. They needed each other, as much as Dad needed them. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe when we go, it's just us and God working out the details. Although, I still feel responsible in some way, like I should have been there to hold his hand and give him strength during this major life transition.

The paramedics showed up. Mom and Brad were shooed into the gas station to give their reports, and Dad was whisked off to the hospital. Dad's doctor later said he was probably already gone.

This is when Brad called his wife Leslie and Kurt, and Kurt called me.

When Mom and Dad got to the hospital they were ushered into a private room. At first a kind nurse visited with them, he was very gentle and sympathetic. He told them that they had shocked dad a couple times, but it didn't look good. I remember them telling me that they got Dad's heart started working at least once, but couldn't keep it going. After that he was unresponsive.

The doctor finally came in and said that they did all they could do. He was pronounced dead at 9:44 PM on August 9, 2014. It appears that dad's lungs filled with fluid and his heart just stopped. His brain was robbed of the oxygen it needed. Essentially, his cause of death was congestive heart failure, from hypertension, which led to cardiac arrest.

Our entire lives turned upside down in literally minutes.

I'd like to record here on this blog at this very moment that my life has CHANGED. Everything feels different. EVERYTHING. I can't get a grip. I feel like such a mess. All of these things that were constant for me, that made me happy and kept me warm and cozy, are just in upheaval. I'm slowly working through my grief, and believe me there are lots of things to grieve. I'm grieving my father, grieving my childhood, grieving the passage of time, grieving my innocence. Grieving.

We booked crazy expensive flights to Maryland the next day. I took both kids and we stayed from August 11 to August 26, more than two weeks.

My tale will continue....