Isn't this over yet?!

Sometimes I just want to scream! It feels like the last 2 and half years have just taken a crap on me and my family and there seems no end in sight. 

Oh let's recap shall we...

2016 was my son's first open heart surgery followed by a plethora of doctor's appointments and other surgeries. I thought it was over by the end of the year and took the advice of Whitney Houston and friends when I exhaled. However, my fun filled days were not over yet and I found myself dumbfounded by the turn of events in my life. 

2017 started out fine...well not really. January brought us the bad news that our black Lab Molly Mae had cancer. It was in her bones and basically there was nothing to do but love her. 

So, that's what we did. We took her home and loved her.

Then, in April we were informed that my son needed to have another open heart surgery because the tissue valve that they put in was not performing the way that they thought that it would and now needed to be replaced with a mechanical one. Oh joy, not only does my son have to endure another major surgery but Rochester, Minnesota is not exactly the garden spot I wanted to see again. No offense Minnesota. But that's not the end of the story...

In May my father got sick but neglected to tell me until he started coughing up blood in June. That's when we found out that my father had Stage 3 Type B Lung cancer. Now, I get to juggle doctor's appointments for my son and my father. But okay, it has to be done so suck it but buttercup and do it, right? I did.

Of course, that's around the time my only daughter decided to tell me that she was pursuing a career in the Air Force. I felt bitterly alone with everything going on, shouldering the weight of the world and seeing no reprieve. I didn't want her to go but I knew I couldn't ask her to stay. So she left. The house felt like something was missing. It was too quiet, the happy noise of a home filled with family seemed have stopped and was replaced with oppressing silence.  I regretted all those times I told her to stop making so much noise with her television or her music. I missed hearing the heavy footsteps running down the stairs as she went off to school. I knew it would be a long time before I would hear her sweet voice ask me if I wanted anything as she drove off to the store. 

Crying was the one constant in my life, it seemed, and I was doing a lot of it. I was worried for my daughter, who rarely went for sleep overs much less boot camp.  I was afraid that my son's second surgery would be harder than the first since they basically had to rip his chest open again, yank out the tissue valve, scrape the lining of his heart to accommodate a larger, mechanical valve and sew him back together. I was overwhelmed with the laundry list of medications and appointments my father had to go to for his treatments and hoping that it would work and that he would recover.

By September, my son's surgery was done. All had gone well and my father was almost finished with his radiation and chemo treatments. He had responded favorably and the doctor's were optimistic.  Things started looking up and I was excited that the year was drawing to a close on such a positive note. 

So, I thought. 

October 25th at 3:14 pm Molly Mae was put down due to her cancer. My heart ached from the pain of losing her. She had been my faithful friend and companion for eight years and I loved her. She comforted me when my daughter had left and afforded my ability to tolerate the crazy changes in my life. The weight of having to make the decision to put her down weighed heavily on me even though I knew it was the only option I had left. I went home that day, holding her leash and collar in my hands and opened the door to an already seemingly empty house. No smile on her face, no wagging of her tail, no cold nose on my leg. Molly was dead and I never thought anything could feel so awful. 

January and February were blurs with trying to get life back in order and I was happy to hear from the doctors that my father was in full remission. The treatments had worked and all seemed have gone according to plan. 

Just not my plan.

March brought on a strain in my relationship with my father and arguments were frequent and horrible. I didn't understand. We had never butt heads like this before and it was getting increasing worse until he decided that living on his own after living with me and my family for 10 years was a necessary change. So, he got a place in a nice independent living community and planned for his future. But something was wrong. My father's behavior and attitude towards me weren't the only new issues. He started stumbling more around the house, slurring his words and acting drunk after only a couple of beers. I chalked it up to him drinking more than he wanted me to know and let it go. But then he started falling down more often and finally told me about the headaches he couldn't shake. 

March 20th he walked into the doctor's office to explain his symptoms. That day the doctor ordered a CT scan. The results took a week to get back and in that time he had moved out my house and into independent living. Unfortunately, he was rapidly becoming unable to live on his own. He fell several more times was unable to make it to the elevator to go and get something to eat downstairs. I received many calls and drove over daily to check on him. The doctor had requested we get an MRI to ensure that the results of the CT scan were correct.

March 29th we found out that the cancer had moved into my father's brain and he had eight tumors. There was nothing they could do. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach and I wanted to vomit. My heart was breaking but I didn't have time to cry or even think. He had walked into the doctor's office just nine days earlier and when we got the results he was in a wheelchair unable to walk. He was administratively added to hospice that same day. The next day, a nurse from hospice evaluated my father and told he me he could not be on his own any longer. He was carried out in a stretcher to a hospital for five days to allow me to find a nursing home that could take him. 

By April 3rd he was in a nursing home but that wasn't going to last long either. My father started suffering from what the medical professionals call "Sundowning". It's when people go through anxiety and aggression due to their medical issue. My father had become violent and only four days after he went into a nursing home, he was removed and place in Denver Hospice.

He went into Denver Hospice on Friday April 6th. Every day was different. Every day he was different.  He would accuse me of not seeing him for days, even though I was there the day prior. His body was becoming smaller, thinner. Only five days after being admitted, he stopped eating and drinking. He was comatose most of the time I saw him and he never spoke to me again. It was Friday the 13th when they told me that he was in his last phase they called "active dying". I had had a nagging suspicion when he went into that hospice that he would not be coming out, alive, I was right. For ten days, I watched my father go from a semi-normal (because of his cancer-induced behavior) person, to a hollow, thinned out shell I barely recognized. 

On Monday April 19th at 9:07 pm my father passed away, only 19 days after being told he had brain cancer. 

My dad, Johnny

When my father came to live with me and my family ten years ago, I was skeptical. We had never had a close relationship but I was hopeful that that would be rectified and we would have that father/daughter relationship I had always wanted. For ten years, my children had a grandfather that loved them. For ten years, I was close to my dad. For that I am thankful. 

The house is even more empty now, if that is even possible.