This week drew to a close a long struggle that was fought for the last four months. On Wednesday morning, at 0545, the strongest man I have ever known died. I was curled up in one of the most uncomfortable chairs ever - no lack of those in a hospital setting - when the nurse leaned over me and whispered my name over and over until I sat up, blinked, and looked at her.
"I'm so sorry," she said, tears in her eyes, "but as of ten minutes ago, your father's heart stopped beating. There's no blood pressure. He's gone."
I sat up immediately and my first thoughts went to my mother. She was sitting in an equally uncomfortable chair at his bedside, holding his hand and talking softly. She was very calm; when we looked at one another, I think it was obvious that this had taken neither of us by surprise. In my heart, I had known that Tuesday night was going to be the night. I had planned it so that my mother and I would be spending the entire night in the hospital room with my father, ensuring that in his final moments, he wouldn't be alone.
Since Friday morning, we had been in the hospital a good 20 hours out of each day. It was only on Friday morning that the doctors told my mom to call all of the kids and get us together to say goodbye - the accumulation of complications resulting from my dad's heart surgery and other illnesses were finally overwhelming him, and time was short. By Saturday, my younger-older brother and his wife were with us, and on Monday my oldest brother showed up as well.
I was not prepared for what I saw when my mom picked me up from the airport on Friday night. I had rushed from work, to my house to pack, to the airport, to Miami and then to the hospital. When I walked into the hospital room, I knew immediately why the doctors had called us in such a hurry. I could see, with my own eyes, what multi-system organ failure looked like. This past week literally had the family watching what it was like to see someone's body shutting down. And on that Friday night, it was a lot for me to deal with. I had to run out of the room because I didn't want my dad to see my tears - I didn't want him to know how shocked I was at how sick he appeared. Throughout this whole ordeal, since he went in the hospital on April 3rd, no physical degeneration could strip him of being the strongest person I knew. But even with that, it was still very difficult to see him in such a state.
Saturday and Sunday, though, there was a huge turnaround - not necessarily in his health, but in his demeanor. Although he couldn't talk, due to the trach tube, he could gesture, he could mouth words, and he could make all the facial expressions he pleased. Through these means of communication, I was able to say to my dad all of the things I promised I wouldn't leave unsaid before it was too late. The best part of it was, I was able to see his responses to all of these. Too often, people pass without warning, or die in a coma, or some other fashion which leaves loved ones without that chance to say that final goodbye. Although it broke my heart to see my dad suffering for so many months, it was a blessing in a small way to be able to have the moments I had with him over the weekend.
I will not going into the details of what was said, or the moments my family and I shared, only because those are sacred and to be treated as such. But from Monday morning to the very end, my father's hospital room was transformed from a clinical, sterile environment to one full of memories and laughter as all of us took turns telling our favorite memories with my dad. Some of these brought me back to memories I had almost forgotten, as my brothers are older than me by a bit and could regale me with stories of my younger childhood all day long. There were a lot of tears, too; but I can say that for every single one of us, my mom included, there was nothing left unsaid and no regret about a moment passing that wasn't cherished.
When I think back to the hero that my dad has always been to me, I won't remember the man who suffered in the hospital for four months, eventually relying on a ventilator to keep him breathing and tubes to keep him fed.
I'll remember the man who used to place me underneath his arm when he was SCUBA diving, plug a regulator into my mouth, and swim me around from the age of five until I was old enough to be certified and SCUBA dive on my own.
I'll remember both of us standing in full mess dress, and he in his most formal Army uniform, as he commissioned me the day of my graduation from the Academy; and how proud he was, a full-bird colonel with tears in his eyes at pride over what daughter had accomplished.
I'll remember catching my first dolphin (mahi mahi) on my first deep sea fishing trip - and being taught how to gut a fish, catch and then clean a lobster, swim with sharks with no fear, drive a boat, put up shelves, change tires... how to rig a fishing line, how to navigate on the open water, all manners of ocean first aid...and so many other things that I could never express.
I'll remember a man who once told me a story (from one of his three tours in the Vietnam War) about a soldier that had most of his abdomen blown apart from a grenade, that laid in his arms and begged him not to let him die so he could go home to his family - and how even though there was nothing that could be done for this young man - how my father still tried to save him and honor his dying wish, how he tried to protect the families of all of his soldiers and how deeply he cared for each one. I remember begging him to tell me stories about how he had earned all of the medals that decorated his uniform and the shadow boxes in my house (Bronze Stars, Legions of Merit, medals from the president of South Korea, so many more); and how humble he was, and that to find out each story I'd dig through piles and piles of old paperwork from his time in the service and learn about the lives he had saved and the true definition of "heroism in ground combat".
I'll remember the male half of the strongest couple I have ever seen - my mom and my dad's relationship has always been the barometer by which I've wanted to measure and experience true happiness with a person I love. I have never seen two people so in sync with one another, so at ease with one another, and so blissfully in love with one another that 27 years of marriage never once dimmed their spark. Even in my dad's weakest moments during his illness, theirs was a love that kept my mom by his side day and night, pledging to nurse him back to health with the power of her love for him. She would move mountains for him if only he asked; and the beauty of it was, he was the exact same way when it came to her.
There could never be enough room for me to type all of the things that my father was to me, or to my mom. I could never honor him enough with words on a screen or on paper - but I would also never let the legacy he left behind fade away. He taught me more about being a decent human being, about caring, about giving my best, about never giving up, than anyone else ever could have. He was the hero that I modeled myself on; the person that I always wanted to be just like, who I always said if I could grow up to be half as amazing of a person as he did, I would die happily. He never lost faith in me, never gave up on me even when I gave up on myself, and never told me there was something I couldn't accomplish if I truly wanted it. In short, he was the best father a child could wish for, and the greatest role model someone could look up to for guidance and solace in life.
I'm sad that he is gone; but I'm at peace with the fact that he's no longer suffering, that he's in a much better place, and that without a doubt, he never let a moment pass without living it to the fullest. In his life, he made sure that he did all of those things he wanted to do - he never wasted time or words, and in that, was able to leave this world knowing that he truly had no regrets when passing on to the other side.
I end this with a quote that my father used to tell me time and time again, one that was my mantra for every difficult time I've ever had in my life, and one that I think of now...
"Illegitimus non carborundum" - Don't let the bastards grind you down.
And I won't, just like he never did.
Here's a tribute to the greatest man I have ever known, my father.
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