LIVING AN DYING:

It is Australia Day today.
A day where we celebrate the existence of living in Australia.Of being Australian, of life here in our own country. Happy Australia day!

We have actually had a good day, a restful day, and a day surrounded by nature, sunshine and water and simply being together with my husband before he goes on duty at the hospital tonight. But it is also a day for reflection on life. It is a day of celebrating both the living and without any morbitiy intended, of remembering those who have died. And although family members may not like what i write, this is my forum and my blog and I feel the need to write on this special day.
So I apologise in advance…but here goes…

Most of you know I work in a medical environment. I deal with patients who are sick.
I am not a doctor but am the manager of the practice. I manage the doctors who tend to their patients and manage the patients who are concerned about their illness. I oversee the staff who assist me in working through all these innumerable abundant matters. I am organized, hardworking, and conscious of my position, my role, my expected responsibilities. I have completed training in many aspects associated with this medical industry and aware of what I am executing in so many facets. I am proficient, calm and competent. I love what I do.
But none of this knowledge, this adeptness prepared me emotionally with what I had to do.

My father died.
And I was the last person who was present with him, who held those last treasured moments of memories.
What a lovely thought you say.

But in reality giving CPR to your dying father is not what the everyday family person thinks they have to deal with.
It is not what you should remember about your father.
It is not the treasured memories you wish to retain as you recall your father.
But sadly I do.

Two weeks ago, my father collapsed in my arms whilst visiting my house. He collapsed and slid down my arm onto the verandah beside me. One moment he was leaning on me, walking slowly and talking and then the next, he was gone. Yes, my competent professional manner kicked in as I held him in my arms, as I laid him back, as I tried to move his weighted body out of the sun, as I tilted his head back to clear his airways, as I commenced CPR.
Sounds so calm doesn’t it!

I am not sure I was so calm.
I was composed as I called loudly to my mother who was inside my house to call 000. I was already in the position of performing Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation on my father’s chest. I was already pushing deeply into the correct place, into his sternum before the wonderful 000 people on my phone began to talk with me. I was counting with this stranger a regular, steady 1,2,3,4, as my arms pressed up and down on my father’s chest, his head hitting the ground, his colour grey, his mouth wide open, his breathing gone. For 10 long agonising minutes I continued CPR before the ambulance arrived and took over.

It’s not a nice thought.
It’s not something nice to read or write about.
But he was gone.
My dad had died.

My face was so wet with tears as the ambulance pronounced him dead. My body position was still, strong and sturdy as I held my mother’s hands as she came out to the verandah, and beautifully , tearfully said “he has gone home to Jesus “as the ambulance staff ceased their medical assistance. My hands were composed as I rang my sister and my brothers that I tried everything to save him but he had gone. Our dad had just died.

Yes, my basic medical knowledge had come into play, my competence showed and my internal coolness was at hand. My siblings assured me that it was a blessing for all, to not have this happen in my mother’s house, or in a public venue; that what I did was everything right. Even though I had their wonderful assurance I was the right person who was there at the correct time and place for both parents and I would ‘get over what I did because I was strong’; inside me there was so much noise. I believed them but inside me is still commotion and turmoil.

And I stood looking at my dad.
Lying so still, covered so serenely by a white clean sheet.
Dad was calm too.

I knew my dad had gone home to God.
He had such a faith, such a strong beautiful faith and with the same faith I firmly knew I would meet him again in heaven when my time came. His beautiful service of celebration commented on that part most deftly. After 64 years of marriage, my mother was now the only person left in this marriage. And though, distressed, she was so picturesque as she emerged in all her graciousness at the abundantly attended celebration of his life, learning to now live on her own without my dad. She has such a strong faith too, but it does not mean that she is hurting. We all are, even though we know where he is!
But right now, in this earthly place, physically he was no longer walking alongside me, leaning on my arm.

I knew my parents had talked about life and death and been dealing with dad’s issues on a daily basis. But my father was still there in these talks; he was still walking, he was still doing things, yes slowly, but accomplishing things. He was alive.
But in that ‘ageless moment’ he had gone.

Yes, ‘life goes on’, and you’ move on’, as people’s platitudes remark.
Although I dont agree with those comments. I believe you learn to deal with profound loss, as I have done before in losing a husband. But when that occured, at least I / we were somewhat ‘prepared’,( if you can at all be prepared for death!). When my first husband died, as hard as it was to say it, we had all said our goodbyes. Having a terminal illness allows that to happen. And, yes on a tangent here,  I could get into a long discussion with you about the pros and cons of knowing or not knowing, which is better…..but now this time it was, it is different.

Because in ‘moving on’ and dealing with the demise of my father, I now watch movies where CPR is performed on ‘friends and family’and immediately know it is not real. That person is going to get up when the director says ‘cut’.
I now hear the counting of ‘1,2,3,4’ and shudder with the memory of a simple order of numbers.
I am now asking myself, did he suffer, did I hurt him, did he know what I was trying to do, and did he die straight away?
The calm practical person I usually know, now has to cope with the struggle of living with the images in my head of my performance of chest compression and breathing into his mouth; of seeing him there on my home verandah as I go about my daily work, of making myself go out to this same verandah to have a coffee while still visually seeing him lying there
It is reflecting of my trying absolutely everything I could to help him in those last ten minutes of my father’s life.

While inwardly and silently knowing he had already died,
And, I had not actually said goodbye.
That is the hardest part for me.

No, I do not need a counsellor. I just needed to talk.
I am fine and I will be fine because I fall apart in my husband’s arms! I also have a great support of close girlfriends who have listened and helped me wipe my tears.I also know these haunting images will gradually fade as these tears and turmoil ease because happier memories will replace them as sleep gradually returns.

Neither do my siblings or family know how I am feeling. Neither will I tell them.
It is my problem, not theirs and I have to deal with it in the best way how.
I guess it gets down to knowing that I did not choose to have this experience.
Rather this was given to me and I have to deal it with in my own way and my own time.

But I do know that even though it is difficult and it does haunt me, as time moves on I know I did do the right thing.

I was there with my dad right to the end.

Most importantly for me right now, I am sure he knows that.