Two years later, I reflect back on those two years when your suffering was severe. I fought and fought with the doctor about a medication that I knew was making you more agitated. No-one would listen to me. In the last month before you died, they listened to me. And finally, you were calmer, less aggressive. No-one would listen to us about behavioral interventions that we thought would be helpful. It was the most helpless, hopeless feeling.
When you told me over and over to 'just shoot you', I grieved. I grieved for you as I watched your sharp mind deteriorate and your level of discomfort increase. I grieved that I could not end your suffering. On our way to a doctor's appointment, several months before you died, you came out of your dementia, as if you were waking from a bad dream. You asked me about your condition. You asked me about where you were living. And we talked. By the time we got to the doctor's office, you begged me to please just end your life. Back at your 'home', your dementia took over again. It ripped my heart apart. Perhaps it hurt even worse that I knew that your type of dementia gave you these moments of clarity that caused you even more torture.
And months later, when the end was near, I felt some relief that your suffering was almost over. Your grueling journey through the horrors of dementia was finally ending. Even though you were not the same 'dad' I knew before, it tore me apart to know that I was losing you. Because, even in your dementia, your humor and love were still there. You were not gone. Those few years were grueling, but, I am so grateful that I got to spend them with you and get a little more 'dad' time before you left this world.
Your life was not about your death. Your life was about the legacy you left thousands of the students that you touched throughout your career, especially those students who desperately needed someone to believe in them and respect them. Your life was about mentoring many teachers and coaches. Your life was about the gifts you gave your three children and your seven grandchildren. Your life was about time spent hunting and fishing. Your life was about your love of sports. Your life was about loyal friendships. Your life was about your politics, your humor, your mind, your love.
I am sorry that I did not live in a state where it was legal to end your suffering. I am sorry that I could not honor your wishes. I am sorry you had to go through something you railed against: the loss of your precious mind,the loss of your precious memory.
The last 6 years has given me a PhD on grief. First, the loss of my beloved Heidi A., so suddenly and unexpectedly, and then you, my beloved dad. With you, it was a long slow process of seeing you fade away in front of my eyes. I cherish the time we spent together during this process and yet, I grieve that you had to go through it. I grieve that we live in a country ill equipped to deal with dementia; that relies on pharmaceutical interventions that often harm people. I grieve that I could not keep you here at home with me. I grieve the fact that this horrible ravaging illness exists. I grieve the fact that we live in a culture that does not embrace grief. Where we are supposed to be 'done' with it after the funeral.
What I learned as a result of these losses is that life is impermanent and sometimes, tragic. That it can throw some of the most heartless horrible heartwrenching things our way. I learned that I have to keep trudging forward even when my heart feels ripped to shreds. I learned to cherish those that are still here, while honoring the memory of those I lost. And, Dad, what I learned most, is to be filled with gratitude for what my 'lost ones' gave me. You gave me life, you gave me love, you gave me ongoing support on every level. Even in your death, you are not gone. You live on in my heart and in the lives of all you touched. I love you and miss you all the time.
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