In recent years, the right to obtain a safe and legal abortion has been threatened by countless bills and laws restricting our access. While republicans haven't had any luck outlawing abortion, they have been successful and making it nearly impossible to obtain one. However, up until now, we could at least take comfort in knowing that if we were the victims of rape or incest OR we were carrying a severely disabled child, we had the option of interrupting the pregnancy.
This week alone, two shocking stories regarding states passing bills to restrict these types of abortions were released. The first, and probably most shocking, comes out of New Mexico. On Wednesday (1/23), a republican lawmaker introduced a bill that would make it a crime to terminate a pregnancy that was the result of rape. Yes, you read that correctly. This bill would make it illegal for a woman who was raped and became pregnant to terminate the pregnancy. And how could anyone ever criminalize a woman for doing such a thing? By saying that by terminating the pregnancy, she's tampering with evidence (I shit you not, people). How many things can you count in this bill that are SO wrong? Not only would it be awful for someone to force a woman who's been raped to carry her pregnancy to term...but then they're going to turn around and use the baby as evidence in a sexual assault case? No. Just no. I can't imagine how this would benefit anyone: mother or child.
The second story, which was released yesterday on BuzzFeed, says that several states are considering making it illegal for doctors to terminate pregnancies based on fetal anomaly. If Indiana passes the bill that was recently introduced there, terminating a pregnancy due to a fetal abnormality could land a doctor in prison for up to 8 years with a Class C felony on his record. There are so many things wrong with this. First of all, the idea of a couple deciding to make a baby, only to be devastated to find out that their child is suffering, or will not live a high quality life if they survive...it's heart wrenching The only thing worse that I can imagine is a family not being able to make the decision to save their child from suffering, if they wish to do so. Carrying a child to term, only to watch them suffer and/or die once they leave the comfort of your womb could be enough to make a woman (a mother) crumble into nothing. It could certainly be equally detrimental to the father, and any other living children that the couple may have. Aside from the emotional damage that this could do to a family, is anyone considering the financial distress it could cause? Just because a family is well off enough to support a healthy child does not mean that they will be able to financially support a special needs child (or their funeral). In a matter of two weeks in the summer of 2012, my 2 year old son ran up medical bills near $40,000. What in the world could cost so much? Ten days in the hospital, along with blood tests, MRI's, ultrasounds, antibiotics, and the eventual draining for AN INFECTED LYMPH NODE! I can't imagine the financial stress that supporting a disabled or terminally ill child could cause to a family. Unfortunately, in today's economy, we have to think about these things.
It is safe to assume that getting an abortion will not be an easy process anytime soon. It seems that lawmakers are trying their hardest to throw as many roadblocks in the way as they can...and they've been reasonably successful in doing so. But that doesn't mean that our fight is over. We have to keep fighting for women. We have to keep fighting for our daughters and grand daughters, our future unborn children who may be broken and suffering, for the right to say what happens to our own bodies. We have to keep fighting, and in order to do that, we have to keep talking.
Keep talking. Keep fighting. Let your local lawmakers know that this is unacceptable.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
WARNING: Very Graphic, May Include Triggers
Early in 2011, I posted about Kermit Gosnell. He was charged with with the deaths of seven infants and 1 woman. Most pro-lifers will argue that every single doctor who provides abortions should face the same charges. However, this case is so far beyond a man who provides abortion services. A new 20 minute documentary highlights exactly what happened behind closed doors in this inner city house of horrors.
Since Roe v. Wade was passed, woman have had access (though often difficult to obtain) to safe, legal abortions. And by "safe", I mean...abortions who are provided by a licensed doctor, in a clean setting, with sterile instruments. The procedures can be done in a number of ways which are often done before the baby has the brain waves/nervous system to make it capable of feeling pain. And once the brain and nervous system has developed to such a point, measures are taken to make the procedure as safe as possible for the baby.
I can only imagine that what Kermit Gosnell did was comparable to back alley abortionists who were in it for nothing more than a quick buck. The Gosnell clinic was located in Philadelphia, in a lower-class neighborhood. Gosnell's "typical" clientele has been described by some as "lower-class", "poor", "minorities", or "under-educated" women. And while it's often true that women who find themselves in desperate situations such as having no money and needing an abortion, will take a risk. I don't think any one of the women who went to Gosnell ever imagined that they would have to be wary of such an experience.
One woman (former patient) who appeared in the documentary describes an experience of seeing women who looked half dead (from being given heavy drugs) sitting in the waiting room, blood spattered walls and floors, blood crusted recliners, and a forceful doctor who refused to let her up off the bed when she changed her mind about the abortion. Instead, he put her to sleep and performed the procedure anyway. She is no longer able to have children.
A clinic worker (who was in no way qualified to do anything other than maybe answer phones and make appointments) snapped cell phone pictures of two of the babies that Gosnell "aborted" (And by "aborted", I mean delivered alive at full term, shoved scissors into the base of their skulls and then "snipped" their spinal cords...a technique that he called "snipping"). These pictures are included in the documentary and are VERY graphic.
Through the years, two women's deaths were reported to the health department, along with a woman who suffered perforated uterus...but no investigation was done--with any of them. The last time an employee from the Department of Health physically visited the clinic? 1993. Not only is Gosnell and his staff at fault, the city should be held accountable as well, or at least the Department of Health.
It's also interesting to note that Gosnell had one exclusive procedure room that he used for white women. It was reportedly cleaner and nicer than the others, because as he put it "That's the way of the world. Young white women are more likely to tell". The whole ordeal is despicable.
This man was not in the business to help women. Nor was he concerned about providing mercy to babies who were suffering. This man would do any abortion, at any time through the pregnancy, for ANY reason. If you were due the day BEFORE you went to him, he would still provide his "services". The only thing that mattered was the money.
Today, on the 40th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, it's so important to remember that if we lose this right to do what we wish with our bodies, there is a very real possibility that this "quality" of care could become the norm for women who need abortion services. These kinds of scary stories are the kind of thing that people heard before we had the legal right to choose. Do we really want to go back to seeing this type of operation regularly? Making abortion illegal won't stop it. But more people will die.
You can watch the documentary, 3801 Lancaster here. But PLEASE be advised that this video is extremely graphic. I would not recommend it for post abortive women, queasy individuals, rape victims, or women who have experienced any kind of pregnancy/infant/child loss.
Since Roe v. Wade was passed, woman have had access (though often difficult to obtain) to safe, legal abortions. And by "safe", I mean...abortions who are provided by a licensed doctor, in a clean setting, with sterile instruments. The procedures can be done in a number of ways which are often done before the baby has the brain waves/nervous system to make it capable of feeling pain. And once the brain and nervous system has developed to such a point, measures are taken to make the procedure as safe as possible for the baby.
I can only imagine that what Kermit Gosnell did was comparable to back alley abortionists who were in it for nothing more than a quick buck. The Gosnell clinic was located in Philadelphia, in a lower-class neighborhood. Gosnell's "typical" clientele has been described by some as "lower-class", "poor", "minorities", or "under-educated" women. And while it's often true that women who find themselves in desperate situations such as having no money and needing an abortion, will take a risk. I don't think any one of the women who went to Gosnell ever imagined that they would have to be wary of such an experience.
One woman (former patient) who appeared in the documentary describes an experience of seeing women who looked half dead (from being given heavy drugs) sitting in the waiting room, blood spattered walls and floors, blood crusted recliners, and a forceful doctor who refused to let her up off the bed when she changed her mind about the abortion. Instead, he put her to sleep and performed the procedure anyway. She is no longer able to have children.
A clinic worker (who was in no way qualified to do anything other than maybe answer phones and make appointments) snapped cell phone pictures of two of the babies that Gosnell "aborted" (And by "aborted", I mean delivered alive at full term, shoved scissors into the base of their skulls and then "snipped" their spinal cords...a technique that he called "snipping"). These pictures are included in the documentary and are VERY graphic.
Through the years, two women's deaths were reported to the health department, along with a woman who suffered perforated uterus...but no investigation was done--with any of them. The last time an employee from the Department of Health physically visited the clinic? 1993. Not only is Gosnell and his staff at fault, the city should be held accountable as well, or at least the Department of Health.
It's also interesting to note that Gosnell had one exclusive procedure room that he used for white women. It was reportedly cleaner and nicer than the others, because as he put it "That's the way of the world. Young white women are more likely to tell". The whole ordeal is despicable.
This man was not in the business to help women. Nor was he concerned about providing mercy to babies who were suffering. This man would do any abortion, at any time through the pregnancy, for ANY reason. If you were due the day BEFORE you went to him, he would still provide his "services". The only thing that mattered was the money.
Today, on the 40th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, it's so important to remember that if we lose this right to do what we wish with our bodies, there is a very real possibility that this "quality" of care could become the norm for women who need abortion services. These kinds of scary stories are the kind of thing that people heard before we had the legal right to choose. Do we really want to go back to seeing this type of operation regularly? Making abortion illegal won't stop it. But more people will die.
You can watch the documentary, 3801 Lancaster here. But PLEASE be advised that this video is extremely graphic. I would not recommend it for post abortive women, queasy individuals, rape victims, or women who have experienced any kind of pregnancy/infant/child loss.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
40th Anniversary of Roe vs Wade
40 years after the Supreme Court ruled in favor of women's rights, there have been plenty of setbacks. Doctors who are legally providing abortions have been murdered in cold blood by people who claim to value and respect life. The offices of these doctors have been bombed. Women who seek these services have been harassed relentlessly. Aside from cleaner conditions and the legal red tape, the passing of Roe vs Wade actually seems to have made the task of seeking an abortion even harder. Before abortion was legal, the biggest concern was the health risk posed by having the procedure done by someone who may or may not be experienced and in less than sterile conditions, at that. Now, of course, women can access abortions (if they have the monetary means to pay for the procedure and possible traveling involved for many women) that are legal and safe, without the fear of legal prosecution. But at what emotional cost?
Many women describe feeling like a criminal while trying to obtain their legal abortion. At most clinics, women are subjected to things like metal detectors and armed security guards. Women have shared stories online of having protesters screaming in their faces as they walk into clinics, or blocking their cars in the clinic driveways. Clinic workers constantly deal with their personal information being distributed publicly. And abortionists themselves have resorted to all sorts of precautions, including wearing bullet proof vests and driving armored vehicles. All of these precautions are necessary for a legal, medical procedure. All of these barriers are broken because of a legal, medical procedure. And what's being done? Hardly anything. And usually nothing preventative.
So how much good has Roe vs. Wade done? Of course women who would have otherwise died in filthy conditions have been able to have a safe abortion. But how healthy is it for a woman to be emotionally tormented when being exposed to these extremists? If the decision is made to make (and keep) abortion legal, the decision should also be made to protect the women who are accessing this legal option.
Many women describe feeling like a criminal while trying to obtain their legal abortion. At most clinics, women are subjected to things like metal detectors and armed security guards. Women have shared stories online of having protesters screaming in their faces as they walk into clinics, or blocking their cars in the clinic driveways. Clinic workers constantly deal with their personal information being distributed publicly. And abortionists themselves have resorted to all sorts of precautions, including wearing bullet proof vests and driving armored vehicles. All of these precautions are necessary for a legal, medical procedure. All of these barriers are broken because of a legal, medical procedure. And what's being done? Hardly anything. And usually nothing preventative.
So how much good has Roe vs. Wade done? Of course women who would have otherwise died in filthy conditions have been able to have a safe abortion. But how healthy is it for a woman to be emotionally tormented when being exposed to these extremists? If the decision is made to make (and keep) abortion legal, the decision should also be made to protect the women who are accessing this legal option.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Tonight, Just Pray.
Back when all the possible republican candidates were hashing it out for the coveted role of "THE republican candidate", I came across a story while doing my typical research and reading on abortion and the like. The article was called, Rick Santorum: Meet My Son. The article was written by writer Emily Rapp. If you remember, Rick Santorum is a passionate pro-lifer, despite the fact that his own wife had to have an induction to terminate a pregnancy to save her own life back in 1996. Emily's article describes the gut wrenching process of having to watch her son, Ronan, die a slow and awful death due to Tay-Sachs. While pregnant, Emily underwent prenatal testing, but the tests came back negative for Tay-Sachs. In the incredibly honest article, Emily says that had she known that her son had Tay-Sachs, she would have terminated her pregnancy. Not because she only wanted a "perfect" child, but because she was already so in love with her unborn child that the idea of allowing him or her to suffer was unbearable. You can read more about Tay-Sachs here. Right now, Ronan is blind, paralyzed, and growing less responsive by the day.
(Please, go and read the article. But have a box of tissues handy.)
The point of that introduction was to say this:
Ronan is in his final stages of life, as we speak. They now have him on IV fluids for hydration and comfort care, but right now, he is at the end of the line.
I found out that Ronan's condition had deteriorated a couple of days ago via Emily's facebook page. She posted a status that said:
"Thanks for all the positive thoughts, folks, and for thinking of Ronan. I really appreciate it. Rones is taking fluids and meds through an ng tube (through his nose) for comfort care and hydration because he can no longer swallow and had a day of extreme respiratory distress. It was a terrible decision to make but felt like the right one. He is able to taste small bits of food. His body is slowing down. He is never without people who love him. xo"
As a mother, I can't imagine what Emily is going through. Having to watch your child suffer and deteriorate over a period of a few years would be unbearable, but she's done it, because her first priority is Ronan. I have no idea if she is relieved, for his sake, that they are at the end of the line, or if this is the worst time of her life..or both. But I think it's safe to say that regardless, she needs all the prayers she can get. And Ronan certainly needs all the prayers that he can get. Prayers for a comfortable passing for Ronan, prayers for healing for Emily, prayers for strength for the whole family.
For a moment tonight, please push aside your thoughts on abortion...whether or not you think that Emily is wrong (or not) for wishing she had known about Ronan's condition so that she could have ended his suffering. Tonight, just pray for them.
(Please, go and read the article. But have a box of tissues handy.)
The point of that introduction was to say this:
Ronan is in his final stages of life, as we speak. They now have him on IV fluids for hydration and comfort care, but right now, he is at the end of the line.
I found out that Ronan's condition had deteriorated a couple of days ago via Emily's facebook page. She posted a status that said:
"Thanks for all the positive thoughts, folks, and for thinking of Ronan. I really appreciate it. Rones is taking fluids and meds through an ng tube (through his nose) for comfort care and hydration because he can no longer swallow and had a day of extreme respiratory distress. It was a terrible decision to make but felt like the right one. He is able to taste small bits of food. His body is slowing down. He is never without people who love him. xo"
As a mother, I can't imagine what Emily is going through. Having to watch your child suffer and deteriorate over a period of a few years would be unbearable, but she's done it, because her first priority is Ronan. I have no idea if she is relieved, for his sake, that they are at the end of the line, or if this is the worst time of her life..or both. But I think it's safe to say that regardless, she needs all the prayers she can get. And Ronan certainly needs all the prayers that he can get. Prayers for a comfortable passing for Ronan, prayers for healing for Emily, prayers for strength for the whole family.
For a moment tonight, please push aside your thoughts on abortion...whether or not you think that Emily is wrong (or not) for wishing she had known about Ronan's condition so that she could have ended his suffering. Tonight, just pray for them.
Friday, January 11, 2013
To Be or Not to Be...Pro-choice
Anytime there is mention of the term "pro-life" or "pro-choice", people immediately have a strong reaction. Some people get uncomfortable. Some people jump at the chance to defend their stance. Others jump to vilify your's.
In a world of black and white issues, pro-life and pro-choice are simple: You're either against abortion or you're for it. But the problem with that reasoning is that our world is never that simple. The truth is, 99% of the time, life is one big gray area. Every situation has it's own issues, it's own difficulties. No two cases are the same. So how does one decide whether they are pro-life or pro-choice?
Many people are raised in a pro-life household (often due to religion). And therefore, those people often feel ashamed to consider themselves pro-choice. Some people are so saddened and angered by the idea of a woman having an abortion, that they don't take the time to consider what being pro-choice actually means. I was one of these people.
I was raised in a Christian household where sex before marriage was wrong, homosexuality was unforgivable, and abortion was an unspeakable act. I felt strongly that a woman who had an abortion was a "certain kind" of woman (or girl) who was irresponsible enough to get herself into a "situation". I also felt such sympathy for the unborn baby. The funny part is that I ended up realizing that I was not only pro-choice, but strongly pro-choice while doing research for a paper that was intended to discourage people from supporting the pro-choice side of the fence. However, the sympathy for the unborn child is still there. As a mother myself, I don't think that will ever go away. It is important to note that while I absolutely feel that abortion should be kept safe and legal, it is always a sad occurrence, in my opinion.
It was hard to realize that I was having second thoughts about my pro-life stance. I felt awful, like an accessory to murder. But then I realized...being pro-choice didn't make me pro-abortion. It didn't mean that the idea of abortion thrilled me. After all, I was pregnant during three times in my life when plenty of women would have considered (or even gone through with) abortion. The first time, I was only 4 months into marriage, without resources, and completely unprepared to be a parent. The second, I went through a separation (almost divorce). And the third time, I was on birth control and not planning on another child for at LEAST a few years. I could have terminated any of those pregnancies. But I made the CHOICE to carry them, to have them, to love them. I had a choice to do that, and I was grateful for it. Women in China don't have that choice (aside from the first time). They are forced to abort. And we deem that as "wrong". So how can we see forcing a woman who can't afford a child, who's child is suffering and will certainly die, or who will die herself if she carries her pregnancy, to carry a pregnancy to term? How do we justify that?
There are plenty of circumstances that most people don't think about when they deem themselves pro-life. For example, what would these people do if they were faced with an ectopic pregnancy? I've heard lots of pro-life people refer to the removal of an ectopic pregnancy as a miscarriage. Not so. In rare cases, women (and their babies) have been known to survive an ectopic pregnancy. So, when a woman consents to having it removed (if the fetus is still alive), she is making the decision to terminate the pregnancy. My own mother made this decision at one point in her life. Because in most cases, the baby will die, and the mother can as well...people like to refer to this "removal" as a miscarriage, but in reality, unless the fetus has already died, it is in fact an abortion. It is, however, considered a "medically necessary" termination (obviously).
What about women who purposely get pregnant, only to find out that something awful is wrong with their child? That their child is suffering? That their child won't live outside the womb for more than a few torturous minutes? If they make the decision to have an abortion...are they evil? I don't think so. Especially if there are other children involved, or the mother's life is in danger, or the baby is suffering in-utero. This is a major decision that requires serious contemplation of many factors. Of course, if they choose to carry the pregnancy as far as they can in order to meet their child and resolve the idea of never-ending "what-ifs", they are more than entitled to do so. That's the beauty of it--it's their CHOICE.
I know a few girls who were raped. If they had become pregnant as a result, I can absolutely understand why they would choose to terminate. Likewise, I would understand if they chose to carry, as well. Again...a CHOICE.
The bottom line is this: No one likes the idea of a dead baby. No one gets the warm and fuzzies from thinking about it. No one aspires to abort. But life happens. It's as frustratingly simple as that. Baby making isn't a perfect science. Life isn't a walk in the park. I wouldn't want my choice to carry a pregnant to term to be taken away. And I wouldn't want the choice to end a pregnancy taken away for me, my daughter, or for other women. Because sometimes life happens and it isn't pretty. Sometimes it's just a mess. And depending on what you are capable of, as a woman (or partner), you deserve to make the choice yourself. Am I against putting limitations on this choice? Nope. I do not believe a woman should be able to decide at 35 weeks pregnant that she just doesn't want to be a mother. I believe that this decision is one of MONUMENTAL responsibility and should be treated as such. Whether it's an early abortion or a late term abortion, it should be given an immense amount of thought...because it's something that you have to live with for the rest of your life. And despite the fact that you may choose to terminate your pregnancy, this is the first decision that you will make as a mother. You will ultimately decide if your child will suffer or thrive, if you can support a child, if you feel comfortable letting someone else have your child....you will decide, for you...and for your child.
So the next time someone asks you if you're pro-life or pro-choice, give it a little thought before you answer. You may surprise yourself.
In a world of black and white issues, pro-life and pro-choice are simple: You're either against abortion or you're for it. But the problem with that reasoning is that our world is never that simple. The truth is, 99% of the time, life is one big gray area. Every situation has it's own issues, it's own difficulties. No two cases are the same. So how does one decide whether they are pro-life or pro-choice?
Many people are raised in a pro-life household (often due to religion). And therefore, those people often feel ashamed to consider themselves pro-choice. Some people are so saddened and angered by the idea of a woman having an abortion, that they don't take the time to consider what being pro-choice actually means. I was one of these people.
I was raised in a Christian household where sex before marriage was wrong, homosexuality was unforgivable, and abortion was an unspeakable act. I felt strongly that a woman who had an abortion was a "certain kind" of woman (or girl) who was irresponsible enough to get herself into a "situation". I also felt such sympathy for the unborn baby. The funny part is that I ended up realizing that I was not only pro-choice, but strongly pro-choice while doing research for a paper that was intended to discourage people from supporting the pro-choice side of the fence. However, the sympathy for the unborn child is still there. As a mother myself, I don't think that will ever go away. It is important to note that while I absolutely feel that abortion should be kept safe and legal, it is always a sad occurrence, in my opinion.
It was hard to realize that I was having second thoughts about my pro-life stance. I felt awful, like an accessory to murder. But then I realized...being pro-choice didn't make me pro-abortion. It didn't mean that the idea of abortion thrilled me. After all, I was pregnant during three times in my life when plenty of women would have considered (or even gone through with) abortion. The first time, I was only 4 months into marriage, without resources, and completely unprepared to be a parent. The second, I went through a separation (almost divorce). And the third time, I was on birth control and not planning on another child for at LEAST a few years. I could have terminated any of those pregnancies. But I made the CHOICE to carry them, to have them, to love them. I had a choice to do that, and I was grateful for it. Women in China don't have that choice (aside from the first time). They are forced to abort. And we deem that as "wrong". So how can we see forcing a woman who can't afford a child, who's child is suffering and will certainly die, or who will die herself if she carries her pregnancy, to carry a pregnancy to term? How do we justify that?
There are plenty of circumstances that most people don't think about when they deem themselves pro-life. For example, what would these people do if they were faced with an ectopic pregnancy? I've heard lots of pro-life people refer to the removal of an ectopic pregnancy as a miscarriage. Not so. In rare cases, women (and their babies) have been known to survive an ectopic pregnancy. So, when a woman consents to having it removed (if the fetus is still alive), she is making the decision to terminate the pregnancy. My own mother made this decision at one point in her life. Because in most cases, the baby will die, and the mother can as well...people like to refer to this "removal" as a miscarriage, but in reality, unless the fetus has already died, it is in fact an abortion. It is, however, considered a "medically necessary" termination (obviously).
What about women who purposely get pregnant, only to find out that something awful is wrong with their child? That their child is suffering? That their child won't live outside the womb for more than a few torturous minutes? If they make the decision to have an abortion...are they evil? I don't think so. Especially if there are other children involved, or the mother's life is in danger, or the baby is suffering in-utero. This is a major decision that requires serious contemplation of many factors. Of course, if they choose to carry the pregnancy as far as they can in order to meet their child and resolve the idea of never-ending "what-ifs", they are more than entitled to do so. That's the beauty of it--it's their CHOICE.
I know a few girls who were raped. If they had become pregnant as a result, I can absolutely understand why they would choose to terminate. Likewise, I would understand if they chose to carry, as well. Again...a CHOICE.
The bottom line is this: No one likes the idea of a dead baby. No one gets the warm and fuzzies from thinking about it. No one aspires to abort. But life happens. It's as frustratingly simple as that. Baby making isn't a perfect science. Life isn't a walk in the park. I wouldn't want my choice to carry a pregnant to term to be taken away. And I wouldn't want the choice to end a pregnancy taken away for me, my daughter, or for other women. Because sometimes life happens and it isn't pretty. Sometimes it's just a mess. And depending on what you are capable of, as a woman (or partner), you deserve to make the choice yourself. Am I against putting limitations on this choice? Nope. I do not believe a woman should be able to decide at 35 weeks pregnant that she just doesn't want to be a mother. I believe that this decision is one of MONUMENTAL responsibility and should be treated as such. Whether it's an early abortion or a late term abortion, it should be given an immense amount of thought...because it's something that you have to live with for the rest of your life. And despite the fact that you may choose to terminate your pregnancy, this is the first decision that you will make as a mother. You will ultimately decide if your child will suffer or thrive, if you can support a child, if you feel comfortable letting someone else have your child....you will decide, for you...and for your child.
So the next time someone asks you if you're pro-life or pro-choice, give it a little thought before you answer. You may surprise yourself.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
A really long wrap up of the last few weeks.
Oh my goodness. I had no idea that it had been so long since I last posted.
The last few weeks have been a TOTAL whirlwind.
On the morning of Thursday, November 29th, my dad went to his local emergency room because he had been up all night vomiting with severe stomach pain. If most people heard this, they would think "virus", "flu", or some other simple illness that typically rears it's ugly head around this time of year. But as soon as my sister called to tell me, I knew that it was more. Little did I know how right I would turn out to be.
Not long after my dad was admitted, they began an IV of morphine, and yet...that wasn't touching his pain. They soon realized that he had two large kidney stones...7mm and 8mm. They said that they were too large to pass and that they would have to be surgically removed. So until the OR was available, they had him on pain meds. Well, shortly after they left...they came back. They said his bloodwork had returned with an indicating that there was a problem with his pancreas. My mom called to tell me that they were sending him for a contrast CT. We all held our breaths and waited by our phones for the results. This was so out of the norm for my dad. A few hours later, we had an answer. Critical pancreatitis. It seemed simple enough. He was in horrible pain, but they were admitting him. They were going to take care of the kidney stones and put him on strong antibiotics. Thursday night, more news. He also had a gallbladder full of stones, and one large one was blocking the duct leading from his gallbladder to his pancreas. The pancreatitis was worse than they originally thought. They immediately took him to surgery to remove the blockage. By midnight on Thursday, he said he was feeling better and he sent my mom back home to rest. Something was screaming at me, "Tell her not to leave him there!" as soon as she told me she was going home. She got mad at me for "giving her hell".
Friday morning, my mom returned to the hospital around 9am to find my dad having trouble breathing. He had gotten worse overnight. His original pain had returned. By lunch time Friday, mom called to tell me that his liver enzymes were off the charts, he was having trouble breathing and they were moving him to ICU. Now, let me explain that when I got this call, I was sitting at Pepboys (where my husband works), waiting on my oil to be changed. I was in the waiting area, my husband was in the shop working, and I remember mom telling me that he was being moved. I looked out the window to my husband and I had the worst feeling in my gut that our lives were about to change forever. I called my husband from my cell, told him what was happening and that I needed to go to my dad (he lives about 2 hours away). I told him to make arrangements to leave work early, that I was going to get our daughter from school early, stopping by home to pick up a few things, and that I'd be back to get him. I left Pepboys around 1:30, returned at 3pm and we were on our way. I got to the hospital around 5pm, and when I called my mom to ask her where I was supposed to go, my dad was in AFIB. I left my husband and the kids in the waiting room and rushed to my dad's room. I knew that this was going to be the worst thing that I had ever seen, so I tried to brace myself.
When I got to the waiting room, my mom was there, my older brother (one of them) was sitting beside her, crying. My parents' preacher was there, along with an elder from church. Again, my heart sank even more. My mom told me to prepare myself...that daddy was having trouble breathing, that he had an NG tube in his nose. I walked into his room with a smile on my face. "Hey daddy!"...and I immediately grabbed his hand. He had IV's in both hands. He was struggling to breathe, but trying to act like his usual self. He nodded and said in between breaths "Hey baby". I rubbed his hands...took everything that I was seeing in and said to him "You know dad, if you just wanted a little extra attention, you could have just told me". He smirked, nodded at me and said "I thought I was doing good. I've made it all this way and now everything is going wrong, all at once". My dad was scared. My strong, brave superhero was terrified. He had always been nervous around doctors...and this was his worst nightmare. They were waiting for another dr to come in and start a central line. My mom asked daddy if he cared if my husband came in, and daddy said no, he didn't care. So I went out and got my husband. As soon as I was out of my dad's eye line, I broke down. My mom had to stop me in the hallway of the ICU and calm me down. I held his hand as tight as I could, bracing myself again for what I was about to see. As soon as daddy saw Dayton, he perked up (as much as his tired body could) and said "Hey Dayton!" in between breaths. Dayton tried cracking a few jokes with him...both of them are notorious for joking in inappropriate situations to lighten a mood. I followed suite and told daddy that this was a pretty extreme attempt to get out from under Obama. He appreciated that one. Soon, the dr came in and said they were going to start the central line and we had to leave. I asked the dr (audibly, in front of my dad), "You ARE going to numb all this (motioning to dad's chest and neck area where they were going to put the line in) FIRST, right?"...I wanted dad to hear me clarify that with the dr. Daddy was terrified and it showed. The dr assured me (but mostly daddy), "YES. ALL of it will be numb before I do ANYTHING". The dr must have known what I was trying to do and I was grateful for his cooperation. I squeezed dad's hand and told him that I loved him.
We left the hospital that night and came home. I knew this wasn't going to end well. My dad had been in the hospital before...but he had never looked like this. Something was just off, and I knew it in my gut.
Saturday morning around 10am, I got a call from my sister with a call immediately after that from my mother. They were putting my dad on a ventilator. He had been struggling so hard to breathe (and it had only gotten worse) that his heart was beginning to give out. They explained to dad that they were going to sedate him and then intubate him. They also assured him that as long as he was on the vent, he would be sedated. I think that eased his mind...but again, he was scared. Again, I called Dayton and told him to come home. I told him that I had to go. About an hour and a half later, the door swings open and there stands Dayton holding bags of snacks for the kids. "Get your things together. I'm taking you to your dad. I'm not letting you do this by yourself, and you need to be there". We did a load of laundry, got the kids fed and down for naps, and were out the door around 3pm. I dropped the kids and hubbs off at my sister's house and went to the hospital. I got there about 5:30pm and went in to see my dad. I followed my mom in and while she went straight to his bedside, I hung out by the door trying to stifle my tears. I was so close to falling apart, but I knew that daddy couldn't hear me be upset. I took a few deep breaths, wiped my face, and went to his other side and picked up his hand. I asked my mom to leave the room so I could talk to him alone. She was mad, and resistant, but she finally stepped outside. I told him how sorry I was that I hadn't talked to him in the last week, that I was sorry I had given him so much trouble as a teenager, that I needed him to be strong and fight, and that my youngest baby still hadn't shared a cup of sweet tea with his papa yet. I reminded him how much we loved him and told him how badly we needed him here. A little while later, I went in with my older sister. She stood on one side, and I stood on the other and we held his hands. I saw her tear up, and right when I thought she was about to lose it, she looked up at me with an angry face and started fussing about how badly he had been taking care of himself. I ended up riding with her to go feed my mom's dogs before we went back to her house that night. We got back in around midnight. Dayton was waiting for me...and with open arms, as he knew I was ready to fall apart. Sunday morning, we woke up and we went back by the hospital so I could see my dad one more time before we left. I went to the waiting room first...my mom was sleeping, so I made the decision to go ahead and see him alone, without her there. I walked in and his nurse was there. She told me that his vitals were great and had been all night (about 10 minutes of hope). She walked out and I had about 5 minutes alone with daddy. As hard as I tried, I couldn't stop the tears. I told him that I needed him to fight, that I was sorry, and how much I loved him. I told him that he couldn't leave me alone with this crazy family of mine, and that I couldn't go on without him. I told him that I wouldn't know how to live in a world without him. Then I told him that I was sorry, but I wasn't sure if I would be able to handle coming back. Just about the time I finished talking and kissing dad on the shoulder, his doctor came in. He was a very nice, reasonably young guy. He asked me if I was his daughter, and I said that I was. And he laid it on me. He explained that overnight, my dad's kidney function had drastically declined and that they were currently operating at about 17% ....he said they would need to start dialysis asap. I looked him square in the eye and said, "So...his kidneys are failing.". It wasn't really a question, but he held eye contact with me, while his eyes started watering and said, "Yes ma'am. They are". Again, I just knew.
I went and woke my mom up, gave her the doctors card and the information. She raced out of the waiting room and I made my way back down to my car, bawling my eyes out as soon as I stepped outside of the hospital.
We came home and tried to go on with life as usual. With 3 small kids, that was our only option...and the only option that dad would find acceptable. Over the next few days, we got the news that he went septic, that his lungs were filling with fluid, that the infection in his pancreas was getting worse and not responding to antibiotics, the dialysis wasn't working, and then they decided to open him up to try and get the gallbladder (which was the main source of all the problems). When they opened him, his insides were too inflamed. All they could do was scrape out some of the infection, and they left his incision open to try to relieve some of the pressure. He went through three of the surgeries with no luck. Saturday afternoon (the 8th), I had to slap a smile on my face and throw a party for my daughter's 6th birthday. Dad would have killed me if he woke up to find that I had canceled it. On Friday, they had given my dad less than a 1% chance of surviving through the weekend. He was still sedated and had gone from the original 60% oxygen on the vent to 100%...life support.
Monday afternoon, we knew we had to go back. We all knew what was about to happen, but no one wanted to come out and say it. I went to the hospital Monday night and saw my dad. I told him that I had heard on TV over the weekend that Kramer (from Seinfeld) was coming back to TV...and that he absolutely had to stick around for that. Some stupid show that dad would hate was on his TV, so I found The Soup on E! for him and left that on. He always loved that show. I wasn't allowed to stay long. I sat in the waiting room with my mom for a little while. I asked her if he passed away, if she would let me have some of his ashes (dad's wishes were to be cremated) for a memory necklace. I was surprised that she agreed. I also said that I wanted to speak at his service. She replied with, "Cara, you're not going to be able to do that". I told her that I had to at least try and she said, "No. If you break down, I won't be able to handle it and you're just too soft hearted not to have a meltdown in front of all of those people". I insisted, and she humored me by giving in. Tuesday, I went out to my mom's house for her and when we were leaving I got a call from my sister: "Cara, I want you to get in your car and go to the hospital RIGHT. NOW." *Okay* "Cara, do you understand what I'm saying to you?". I knew exactly what she was saying. She was telling me that my dad had minutes to live and I needed to be there.
Dayton drove about 80 mph through town to get me there. I raced in and ran past all of my brothers and sisters in the hallway, ran into the waiting room, and waited for my mom. She came and took me to see him, reluctantly. She had my brother walk with us, in case dad coded, my brother could help me out. She told me that they were stopping his blood pressure medicines, as even with two...he was struggling to keep his bottom number in the low 40's. One had already been stopped. They were waiting on her to tell them to stop the second. It would be a matter of hours. I stayed with him as long as she'd let me. I cried. I held his hands. She walked out (without a fuss this time) to let me talk to him. It was a blur and it still is. I told him how much I loved him, and again, how sorry I was. I told him to please not leave me alone, that he was the only one that ever loved me unconditionally. I didn't try to stop the tears this time. Dayton wanted to see him again, but he didn't have the heart. He walked back to the ICU waiting room, but couldn't bring himself to see daddy.
We left with the kids and headed home, silently. We all knew what was about to happen. I fell asleep on the way home. We left about 1:30-2pm. Around 3:30 I woke up and texted my sister, "Any updates??". About 2 minutes later, my phone rang. It was my mom. I knew. I held my breath and answered the phone. "Cara? Where are you?....Is Dayton driving? Your daddy passed away at 3:23 very peacefully". She went into details but I looked at Dayton with tears streaming down my face and couldn't bring myself to say anything because I knew I would lose it and I didn't want the kids to see me that way. I tuned back in in time to hear her say "Cara, you have to hold it together. You look at what you've got in the back seat and you hold it together for them. That's what daddy would want". I don't remember getting off the phone. I cried the rest of the way home with Dayton holding my hand the whole way. As soon as we got home, I went to sleep. I couldn't deal.
_______________________________________________
In the week since he's been gone, I've written my eulogy and said goodbye to my dad. I didn't think I'd manage, and almost gave into the pressure to let someone else read it...but I knew I'd regret it if I didn't try to say what I needed to say to honor my dad. I was amazingly calm during the service. I got up and spoke to the crowd about my dad and what a special man he was to everyone who knew him. People teared up, people laughed, and ultimately, I think I did a good job and daddy would have been happy with it. I started to choke up 3 times, but was able to take a breath and keep my composure. We sat down and they started a slideshow. Pictures all throughout my dad's life with the song Against the Wind by Bob Segar and the Silver Bullet band. I heard and felt Dayton start crying, and then there was nothing I could do. I fell apart. I watched these pictures, remembered all these times, stared at my daddy's sweet face.
It seems like he's already been gone for months. Everything else is going in real time, but when it comes to him...the minutes seem to be dragging. I haven't been as upset since he died as I was when he was sick. I don't understand that. There are a lot of things that I don't understand. I'm feeling pretty bitter about the whole situation. I'm including a copy of the eulogy that I wrote. I started out reading it and ended up adding a few more things once I was up there, but you'll get the idea.
We'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming soon.
For Daddy:
My dad was the best man that I have ever known. He was the best man that a lot of people have ever known. He was the best father a child could ever have, and the best example of a generous man that anyone could ever look to.
The memories that I have of my dad are simple: hitting a baseball in the back yard after school, taking long bike rides on Sunday afternoons (but only during the boring part of the Nascar races), and going to Sunday school every weekend...but they are the best memories. As I got older, the memories changed, but my dad's dedication as a father did not, even when it meant supporting me in something that he didn't necessarily agree with. Because that's the kind of man my dad was: strongly opinionated, but ultimately committed to being the best father that he could be.
The fact that he was such a good dad has meant that every day since he has been gone, my world has been a little darker, a lot scarier, and much less funny. And daddy would hate that.
He hated the idea of someone being sad, and if it meant cracking inappropriate jokes or teasing someone, he would do it. Even in the worst of times, daddy could find a way to make someone smile...and that is exactly how he would want to be remembered.
There are no words to adequately express the sense of loss felt by my family, my dad's church family, and his friends today. And I have no idea how we're supposed to move forward without him, how I'm supposed to explain to my son why he can't call his papa 6 times a day just because he wants to, or how I'm ever supposed to manage sitting in church without looking over and seeing him sitting at the end of the pew. But starting tomorrow, I'm going to wake up every day and try, because that's what daddy would want me to do, that's what dad would insist that I do, and that's what would make my dad proud. And if I can make him just a fraction of how proud he's made me, I'll be doing okay.
The last few weeks have been a TOTAL whirlwind.
On the morning of Thursday, November 29th, my dad went to his local emergency room because he had been up all night vomiting with severe stomach pain. If most people heard this, they would think "virus", "flu", or some other simple illness that typically rears it's ugly head around this time of year. But as soon as my sister called to tell me, I knew that it was more. Little did I know how right I would turn out to be.
Not long after my dad was admitted, they began an IV of morphine, and yet...that wasn't touching his pain. They soon realized that he had two large kidney stones...7mm and 8mm. They said that they were too large to pass and that they would have to be surgically removed. So until the OR was available, they had him on pain meds. Well, shortly after they left...they came back. They said his bloodwork had returned with an indicating that there was a problem with his pancreas. My mom called to tell me that they were sending him for a contrast CT. We all held our breaths and waited by our phones for the results. This was so out of the norm for my dad. A few hours later, we had an answer. Critical pancreatitis. It seemed simple enough. He was in horrible pain, but they were admitting him. They were going to take care of the kidney stones and put him on strong antibiotics. Thursday night, more news. He also had a gallbladder full of stones, and one large one was blocking the duct leading from his gallbladder to his pancreas. The pancreatitis was worse than they originally thought. They immediately took him to surgery to remove the blockage. By midnight on Thursday, he said he was feeling better and he sent my mom back home to rest. Something was screaming at me, "Tell her not to leave him there!" as soon as she told me she was going home. She got mad at me for "giving her hell".
Friday morning, my mom returned to the hospital around 9am to find my dad having trouble breathing. He had gotten worse overnight. His original pain had returned. By lunch time Friday, mom called to tell me that his liver enzymes were off the charts, he was having trouble breathing and they were moving him to ICU. Now, let me explain that when I got this call, I was sitting at Pepboys (where my husband works), waiting on my oil to be changed. I was in the waiting area, my husband was in the shop working, and I remember mom telling me that he was being moved. I looked out the window to my husband and I had the worst feeling in my gut that our lives were about to change forever. I called my husband from my cell, told him what was happening and that I needed to go to my dad (he lives about 2 hours away). I told him to make arrangements to leave work early, that I was going to get our daughter from school early, stopping by home to pick up a few things, and that I'd be back to get him. I left Pepboys around 1:30, returned at 3pm and we were on our way. I got to the hospital around 5pm, and when I called my mom to ask her where I was supposed to go, my dad was in AFIB. I left my husband and the kids in the waiting room and rushed to my dad's room. I knew that this was going to be the worst thing that I had ever seen, so I tried to brace myself.
When I got to the waiting room, my mom was there, my older brother (one of them) was sitting beside her, crying. My parents' preacher was there, along with an elder from church. Again, my heart sank even more. My mom told me to prepare myself...that daddy was having trouble breathing, that he had an NG tube in his nose. I walked into his room with a smile on my face. "Hey daddy!"...and I immediately grabbed his hand. He had IV's in both hands. He was struggling to breathe, but trying to act like his usual self. He nodded and said in between breaths "Hey baby". I rubbed his hands...took everything that I was seeing in and said to him "You know dad, if you just wanted a little extra attention, you could have just told me". He smirked, nodded at me and said "I thought I was doing good. I've made it all this way and now everything is going wrong, all at once". My dad was scared. My strong, brave superhero was terrified. He had always been nervous around doctors...and this was his worst nightmare. They were waiting for another dr to come in and start a central line. My mom asked daddy if he cared if my husband came in, and daddy said no, he didn't care. So I went out and got my husband. As soon as I was out of my dad's eye line, I broke down. My mom had to stop me in the hallway of the ICU and calm me down. I held his hand as tight as I could, bracing myself again for what I was about to see. As soon as daddy saw Dayton, he perked up (as much as his tired body could) and said "Hey Dayton!" in between breaths. Dayton tried cracking a few jokes with him...both of them are notorious for joking in inappropriate situations to lighten a mood. I followed suite and told daddy that this was a pretty extreme attempt to get out from under Obama. He appreciated that one. Soon, the dr came in and said they were going to start the central line and we had to leave. I asked the dr (audibly, in front of my dad), "You ARE going to numb all this (motioning to dad's chest and neck area where they were going to put the line in) FIRST, right?"...I wanted dad to hear me clarify that with the dr. Daddy was terrified and it showed. The dr assured me (but mostly daddy), "YES. ALL of it will be numb before I do ANYTHING". The dr must have known what I was trying to do and I was grateful for his cooperation. I squeezed dad's hand and told him that I loved him.
We left the hospital that night and came home. I knew this wasn't going to end well. My dad had been in the hospital before...but he had never looked like this. Something was just off, and I knew it in my gut.
Saturday morning around 10am, I got a call from my sister with a call immediately after that from my mother. They were putting my dad on a ventilator. He had been struggling so hard to breathe (and it had only gotten worse) that his heart was beginning to give out. They explained to dad that they were going to sedate him and then intubate him. They also assured him that as long as he was on the vent, he would be sedated. I think that eased his mind...but again, he was scared. Again, I called Dayton and told him to come home. I told him that I had to go. About an hour and a half later, the door swings open and there stands Dayton holding bags of snacks for the kids. "Get your things together. I'm taking you to your dad. I'm not letting you do this by yourself, and you need to be there". We did a load of laundry, got the kids fed and down for naps, and were out the door around 3pm. I dropped the kids and hubbs off at my sister's house and went to the hospital. I got there about 5:30pm and went in to see my dad. I followed my mom in and while she went straight to his bedside, I hung out by the door trying to stifle my tears. I was so close to falling apart, but I knew that daddy couldn't hear me be upset. I took a few deep breaths, wiped my face, and went to his other side and picked up his hand. I asked my mom to leave the room so I could talk to him alone. She was mad, and resistant, but she finally stepped outside. I told him how sorry I was that I hadn't talked to him in the last week, that I was sorry I had given him so much trouble as a teenager, that I needed him to be strong and fight, and that my youngest baby still hadn't shared a cup of sweet tea with his papa yet. I reminded him how much we loved him and told him how badly we needed him here. A little while later, I went in with my older sister. She stood on one side, and I stood on the other and we held his hands. I saw her tear up, and right when I thought she was about to lose it, she looked up at me with an angry face and started fussing about how badly he had been taking care of himself. I ended up riding with her to go feed my mom's dogs before we went back to her house that night. We got back in around midnight. Dayton was waiting for me...and with open arms, as he knew I was ready to fall apart. Sunday morning, we woke up and we went back by the hospital so I could see my dad one more time before we left. I went to the waiting room first...my mom was sleeping, so I made the decision to go ahead and see him alone, without her there. I walked in and his nurse was there. She told me that his vitals were great and had been all night (about 10 minutes of hope). She walked out and I had about 5 minutes alone with daddy. As hard as I tried, I couldn't stop the tears. I told him that I needed him to fight, that I was sorry, and how much I loved him. I told him that he couldn't leave me alone with this crazy family of mine, and that I couldn't go on without him. I told him that I wouldn't know how to live in a world without him. Then I told him that I was sorry, but I wasn't sure if I would be able to handle coming back. Just about the time I finished talking and kissing dad on the shoulder, his doctor came in. He was a very nice, reasonably young guy. He asked me if I was his daughter, and I said that I was. And he laid it on me. He explained that overnight, my dad's kidney function had drastically declined and that they were currently operating at about 17% ....he said they would need to start dialysis asap. I looked him square in the eye and said, "So...his kidneys are failing.". It wasn't really a question, but he held eye contact with me, while his eyes started watering and said, "Yes ma'am. They are". Again, I just knew.
I went and woke my mom up, gave her the doctors card and the information. She raced out of the waiting room and I made my way back down to my car, bawling my eyes out as soon as I stepped outside of the hospital.
We came home and tried to go on with life as usual. With 3 small kids, that was our only option...and the only option that dad would find acceptable. Over the next few days, we got the news that he went septic, that his lungs were filling with fluid, that the infection in his pancreas was getting worse and not responding to antibiotics, the dialysis wasn't working, and then they decided to open him up to try and get the gallbladder (which was the main source of all the problems). When they opened him, his insides were too inflamed. All they could do was scrape out some of the infection, and they left his incision open to try to relieve some of the pressure. He went through three of the surgeries with no luck. Saturday afternoon (the 8th), I had to slap a smile on my face and throw a party for my daughter's 6th birthday. Dad would have killed me if he woke up to find that I had canceled it. On Friday, they had given my dad less than a 1% chance of surviving through the weekend. He was still sedated and had gone from the original 60% oxygen on the vent to 100%...life support.
Monday afternoon, we knew we had to go back. We all knew what was about to happen, but no one wanted to come out and say it. I went to the hospital Monday night and saw my dad. I told him that I had heard on TV over the weekend that Kramer (from Seinfeld) was coming back to TV...and that he absolutely had to stick around for that. Some stupid show that dad would hate was on his TV, so I found The Soup on E! for him and left that on. He always loved that show. I wasn't allowed to stay long. I sat in the waiting room with my mom for a little while. I asked her if he passed away, if she would let me have some of his ashes (dad's wishes were to be cremated) for a memory necklace. I was surprised that she agreed. I also said that I wanted to speak at his service. She replied with, "Cara, you're not going to be able to do that". I told her that I had to at least try and she said, "No. If you break down, I won't be able to handle it and you're just too soft hearted not to have a meltdown in front of all of those people". I insisted, and she humored me by giving in. Tuesday, I went out to my mom's house for her and when we were leaving I got a call from my sister: "Cara, I want you to get in your car and go to the hospital RIGHT. NOW." *Okay* "Cara, do you understand what I'm saying to you?". I knew exactly what she was saying. She was telling me that my dad had minutes to live and I needed to be there.
Dayton drove about 80 mph through town to get me there. I raced in and ran past all of my brothers and sisters in the hallway, ran into the waiting room, and waited for my mom. She came and took me to see him, reluctantly. She had my brother walk with us, in case dad coded, my brother could help me out. She told me that they were stopping his blood pressure medicines, as even with two...he was struggling to keep his bottom number in the low 40's. One had already been stopped. They were waiting on her to tell them to stop the second. It would be a matter of hours. I stayed with him as long as she'd let me. I cried. I held his hands. She walked out (without a fuss this time) to let me talk to him. It was a blur and it still is. I told him how much I loved him, and again, how sorry I was. I told him to please not leave me alone, that he was the only one that ever loved me unconditionally. I didn't try to stop the tears this time. Dayton wanted to see him again, but he didn't have the heart. He walked back to the ICU waiting room, but couldn't bring himself to see daddy.
We left with the kids and headed home, silently. We all knew what was about to happen. I fell asleep on the way home. We left about 1:30-2pm. Around 3:30 I woke up and texted my sister, "Any updates??". About 2 minutes later, my phone rang. It was my mom. I knew. I held my breath and answered the phone. "Cara? Where are you?....Is Dayton driving? Your daddy passed away at 3:23 very peacefully". She went into details but I looked at Dayton with tears streaming down my face and couldn't bring myself to say anything because I knew I would lose it and I didn't want the kids to see me that way. I tuned back in in time to hear her say "Cara, you have to hold it together. You look at what you've got in the back seat and you hold it together for them. That's what daddy would want". I don't remember getting off the phone. I cried the rest of the way home with Dayton holding my hand the whole way. As soon as we got home, I went to sleep. I couldn't deal.
_______________________________________________
In the week since he's been gone, I've written my eulogy and said goodbye to my dad. I didn't think I'd manage, and almost gave into the pressure to let someone else read it...but I knew I'd regret it if I didn't try to say what I needed to say to honor my dad. I was amazingly calm during the service. I got up and spoke to the crowd about my dad and what a special man he was to everyone who knew him. People teared up, people laughed, and ultimately, I think I did a good job and daddy would have been happy with it. I started to choke up 3 times, but was able to take a breath and keep my composure. We sat down and they started a slideshow. Pictures all throughout my dad's life with the song Against the Wind by Bob Segar and the Silver Bullet band. I heard and felt Dayton start crying, and then there was nothing I could do. I fell apart. I watched these pictures, remembered all these times, stared at my daddy's sweet face.
It seems like he's already been gone for months. Everything else is going in real time, but when it comes to him...the minutes seem to be dragging. I haven't been as upset since he died as I was when he was sick. I don't understand that. There are a lot of things that I don't understand. I'm feeling pretty bitter about the whole situation. I'm including a copy of the eulogy that I wrote. I started out reading it and ended up adding a few more things once I was up there, but you'll get the idea.
We'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming soon.
For Daddy:
My dad was the best man that I have ever known. He was the best man that a lot of people have ever known. He was the best father a child could ever have, and the best example of a generous man that anyone could ever look to.
The memories that I have of my dad are simple: hitting a baseball in the back yard after school, taking long bike rides on Sunday afternoons (but only during the boring part of the Nascar races), and going to Sunday school every weekend...but they are the best memories. As I got older, the memories changed, but my dad's dedication as a father did not, even when it meant supporting me in something that he didn't necessarily agree with. Because that's the kind of man my dad was: strongly opinionated, but ultimately committed to being the best father that he could be.
The fact that he was such a good dad has meant that every day since he has been gone, my world has been a little darker, a lot scarier, and much less funny. And daddy would hate that.
He hated the idea of someone being sad, and if it meant cracking inappropriate jokes or teasing someone, he would do it. Even in the worst of times, daddy could find a way to make someone smile...and that is exactly how he would want to be remembered.
There are no words to adequately express the sense of loss felt by my family, my dad's church family, and his friends today. And I have no idea how we're supposed to move forward without him, how I'm supposed to explain to my son why he can't call his papa 6 times a day just because he wants to, or how I'm ever supposed to manage sitting in church without looking over and seeing him sitting at the end of the pew. But starting tomorrow, I'm going to wake up every day and try, because that's what daddy would want me to do, that's what dad would insist that I do, and that's what would make my dad proud. And if I can make him just a fraction of how proud he's made me, I'll be doing okay.
William "Bill" Clegg, Jr.
July 14, 1943-December 11, 2012
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Your Voice Your Vote 2012
This year, people are vicious in defending their picks for POTUS. People seem to be die hard either way, and you'll be hard pressed to find anyone who is standing in a gray area. And they should be. Our two candidates are like night and day. But specific to this blog, we have candidates that are on both sides of the abortion debate (no surprise there). Many pro-choice women have this on their minds. If Romney is elected, will he actively work to restrict abortion? Or worse, completely outlaw it (though I don't see this happening)? Will he be working to restrict birth control? Mormons aren't exactly known for limiting the number of children they have. Or will he be focusing primarily on the economy? There's really no way to know. And there's no way to know if President Obama will be doing any work in the way of the pro-choice movement. I don't recall him making any significant changes in the last four years in this area.
So, the challenge now is to sit back, wait for the results, and trust that WE THE PEOPLE made the best decision for our country. It's no longer time to bicker about who is the best and who should win. Now is the time to pull together, accept what we've done, and work to fix our issues.
Happy election day!
So, the challenge now is to sit back, wait for the results, and trust that WE THE PEOPLE made the best decision for our country. It's no longer time to bicker about who is the best and who should win. Now is the time to pull together, accept what we've done, and work to fix our issues.
Happy election day!
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