Before my mother married Dad when I was nine years old, our life was a living hell. Then Dad came along and made things better, especially for me. Nothing was perfect but he gave me many lasting and nice, memories. I was the apple of his eye, his "little Snicklefritz." I was still Snicklefritz at the time of his death. Watching him die, and not being able to stop what was happening was not something I would wish upon anyone. It was like being in a nightmare fairy tale land. I kept thinking that if I wished long and hard enough I could wish it all away. I alternated between wanting it to stop and Dad to be better; to wanting him to die and end all of the suffering. Now, of course the guilt of wishing him to die haunts me. I was angry at the doctors (and still am). On one hand they would not let him die, medical science and all. On the other hand they kept asking him if he wanted them to let him die. They asked so many times that the sparkle that had always been there, left his pretty blue eyes. Then when they put him on life support the doctors told my family it was my fault; as I was the one who told them to stop asking Dad that. I wanted them to stop because he was so sick and confused, toxins were affecting his thought process. There is another guilt trip for me. Then the doctors basically blackmailed my Mom into allowing life support to be stopped. We, the family were there for Dad at the end. I remember little of that. Everyone was crying. I kept asking for more Morphine for Dad, they gave him four shots of it. I knew that the Morphine would hasten death. I just wanted the nightmare to end, for Dad, for us. And I did not want him to "know" that he could not breathe. Watching my big, strong Dad gasping for air was far too much to handle. The one thing that will never leave me is hearing my Mom cry so. I had never before seen my mother cry; and the immense sadness that was in those tears devastated me. Knowing that I could not make it better for her was even worse. Mom is such a sweet person, and Dad was the love of her life. Ah, Dad you promised that you would live forever. We wanted you to.
You can send email to Carmen at: firstname.lastname@example.org
anniversary date 08-03-96
date of post 02-13-98