Was I right? Did I do everything I could? I could have done more. I should have done more. What if I had done more? - a broken record of questions plagued my whole being.
The day of that guilt spiral was the day of visitation. We were scrambling [felt that way to me] getting the remaining pictures and other odds and ends ready. I texted my ex about my dad’s death before leaving for visitation. A very good friend of mine from college came down for the funeral. She told me to prepare myself for him not to respond. To my surprise, he replied pretty quickly - a simple sentence. I was not quite prepared for a response and I wasn’t prepared for it to be a single sentence. In one way, a weight lifted. I had told him. But the weight hadn’t lifted. It shifted - straight to the gut.
I walked into visitation with more weight on me than I had ever known. This simple act is surreal enough on its own. It's one of "the walks" I thought about. I breathed a small sigh of relief when I first walked in. I saw my elderly neighbors sitting on the couch with their masks on. I hadn’t expected them because of covid. They came anyway. I will forever remember what that did for my heart just before entering. It felt as if they were there just for me.
But I was still carrying guilt. I was carrying what ifs. I was carrying doubt. I was carrying fear. My dad should have been there beside me through all of it, just like he had been for every moment in my life. I had been in this funeral home before, with him beside me every single time.
I am awkward at funeral homes. I never know what to say and always feel like the people don’t actually want me there. I actually wonder sometimes if it feels like a burden or makes them mad. Who wants someone they haven’t talked to in years to show up at one the most emotionally raw points of their lives? [if you think that too, let me assure you - show up anyway. I never once questioned why someone was there. It meant the world to know dad was loved and would be remembered through other people].
I stood over by the pictures and the tv screen playing his tribute video. That made sense. I had been in charge of picking out most of them - sorting through literally thousands. I got to watch people stare at the screen and react and laugh. I got to see people who recognized themselves in the photos or remembered that time... I could talk all about the pictures and my brother provided better support to my mom. Plus, they were the ones who knew the majority of the people coming through the doors. And remember, see above - I am awkward at funeral homes - especially when I'm there because my dad is the one who died.
My dad's primary care doctor came through the doors with his wife. And she happens to be my doctor. He had just seen dad for a visit the week before he died. Everything was good. After the condolences, the first question to me was an emphatic and concerned "what happened?!" That seemingly gave me permission to unleash what I had been holding onto - the traumatic parts and all of my questions. I got to tell someone I was there. I got to tell someone what I saw. I got to piece some of it together. I wasn't prepared for that conversation so I just started rapid firing every detail that came to mind.
My sister-in-law knew them well and had scooted over to talk with them too. I tried to usher her away by telling her she didn't need to hear this. I wanted to protect her. I wanted to be able to speak a very raw and unedited version. His doctor and I became intertwined in conversation. Time stood still. In my mind, we were the only people in the room and this was the most important conversation of my life. It would alter my course.
A line continued to form but all my senses and all my vision, were focused on that conversation. My eyes were fixated on every nuance of response. I remember every head nod, every word that seemed to confirm a thought, every glance between husband and wife [between doctors], every sympathetic acknowledgment, every bit of understanding. It was an orchestrated dance of storytelling, question, and answer [mine], and [his] answer. My sister-in-law later told me she had never seen that side of him. She had never seen him so intently engaged - so locked in on conversation.
He has no idea the heavy burden that lifted from that conversation. He has no idea how desperately I needed to hear what he had to say. He had no idea what I had been through earlier that day - the mental anguish of expectations and [perceived] failure. Now, he could assume what I was going through but he was speaking more matter of fact. He was speaking medically with clinical answers. He, himself, wanted answers - maybe he even needed those answers too. He was not just trying to assuage my guilt. He looked me in the eyes and spoke directly to me "there was nothing you could've done. There could have been medical personnel right behind you in line and it would not have made a difference. It would not have changed the outcome."
I had an appointment with my doctor [the wife from above] a few weeks later. She obviously asked me how we were all doing. I made it a point for her to pass on to her husband how much I appreciated him taking the time to talk with me for as long as he did and for answering so many questions. I could see a sense of relief come over her and she said he had felt bad about the conversation. He had felt it wasn't the time or place to have that kind of conversation. I assured her "oh no! You have no idea how much that meant to me and how much I needed it right then. It made all the difference. Please pass that along." She echoed his sentiments - nothing could have changed the outcome.
I still have questions and some days I battle a lot of questions. There are times I want to be able to have another conversation with his doctor, now that I've had more time to think and try to comprehend what happened...now that I've had more time to second guess what he said and ask myself "was he just trying to make me feel better because he knew how the guilt could wreck me?" I am still piecing bits together. I still fear being unprepared. I still fear my abilities in a crisis. I still fear my family resenting me. But the fear grows less and less every day.
Am I glad I was with my dad? Absolutely. Even with all the questions and doubt, I am glad I was there in that moment. Do I wish all of us could have been there? Absolutely. Do I wish I could have done more? Absolutely. People call it a blessing that I was there. I can't say that "blessing" is the word I have for it yet, but every day I am more and more thankful.
It's funny how much guilt can eat you up. Because when it was all going on at Lowe's, I remember thinking it was a good thing I was there - because I knew I could stay calm and I knew I could handle it. I knew the burden that would follow. But as soon as the moment was over, guilt and doubt bulldozed into every nook and cranny of my mind and I suddenly felt ill equipped to handle it. I am slowly learning [and accepting] that I did the very best I could in an unknown, uncontrollable, and chaotic situation - and that - that is the right thing.
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