In addition to his cantankerous view of the world, my Pops also had a wicked, even morbid, sense of humour. A sense of humour I also share. When shopping for a new suit to wear to my wedding, my "hasn't worn a suit in 40 years" father told my mum, "well, this wedding will be one of two times I'll ever wear this thing. I guess 100 bucks isn't bad for two wearings".
37 days later he was wearing his suit for the second, and last, time.
Many times throughout my life with Pops, he's always told me - "I just want to die peacefully in my sleep like my father". He had mentioned it again while in the hospital and it reminded me of a funny bumper sticker I had seen. One that I told my Pops I would get for him when he got out. "Really? What'd it say?" It said "I WANT TO DIE IN MY SLEEP LIKE MY GRANDPA . . . NOT SCREAMING IN TERROR LIKE THE PASSENGERS IN HIS CAR". Pops thought about for a second, nodded when he got the joke then laughed. "Yeah, get me that. That's good."
Unfortunately, my father did not have the luxury that his father had before him. He did not go peacefully into that goodnight. He was, I believe, scared as hell. And that bothers me the most.
He woke up that Saturday morning and came down for his morning coffee. He took his medication, had two sips of coffee and announced he wasn't feeling well and was going back to bed for a little bit. He also asked my mum to cancel plans for a family visit as he wasn't up to seeing anyone. He was still very worried about what the results of the PET scan he was to have that Monday would say.
10 minutes later he was back downstairs - panicked and desperate. He had an immense pain in his chest that went through to his back and radiated down BOTH arms. He quickly took a Nitroglycerin pill and my mum called me. The pill is supposed to work within seconds and if not, another should be taken. While my mum was on the phone with me he was taking his third. Then he passed out on the floor. My mum called an ambulance and he was concious again. The ambulance came and he begged them to help him - "I can't breathe" (this probably breaks my heart the most).
My mum is convinced he died before they even got him in the ambulance. He was talking to them the whole time they were wheeling him out, however the stretcher became stuck on the walkway and as they struggled to get it moving again, he stopped talking. His eyes rolled back, his head went back then fell forward. It was approximately 8:31 am.
Immediately after hanging up the phone with my mum I got dressed and began to leave. Then I thought "where the hell am I going? What hospital are they taking him to?" I thought about it and finally said "fuck it" and made my way to my parents house. I got there just as the ambulance came blasting down their street. I followed it all the way to Brookhaven Memorial - the closest hospital.
The one thing I struggle with the most is what if I didn't stall? What if I just jumped in the car, pajamas and all and headed right to my parents house? What if he got to see me, even if for one last time? What if I was there when his head went back and he ceased to be? What if I shouted out "DADDY"? Would he have woken up? Would he still be here?
I just have to keep telling myself, it is what it is and there's no changing it.
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