Well, I obviously haven't been blogging. A lot has happened. I noticed the date of my last post and realized that it was about then that my Dad went into the hospital for surgery to remove a blood clot from his brain. He was supposed to be out in 3 days and instead was in pretty much a coma for several days and eventually had to be moved to a nursing home.
Now I'm not going to go on a rant about doctors and their inability to communicate with each other regarding their patients, how you can feel pressured into following a procedure when it is not really necessary, how the doctor who is responsible for my Dad's condition wouldn't return phone calls or how next time I'm in a hospital for any reason I will be taking notes and pictures of every detail. But I will say it was the beginning of the end. My Dad was at a nursing home for a while before my Mom could take him home. She was able to care for him for a while but eventually it became impossible because he couldn't swallow anymore. We moved him to a hospice for several days where I stayed by his side until early one morning he took his last breath.
But this is not a blog post about sorrow or blame or anything like that. My Dad had Parkinson's disease (possibly triggered by exposure from agent orange in Vietnam). It was going to kill him eventually. The botched surgery just sped up the inevitable. What I wanted to write about is how my Dad's last days made me feel.
I do feel sorrow. But I can't say I've mourned yet because I've worked almost everyday since he died. My sister say's it will come. But for now I mostly feel grateful. My father was a great dad. He never gave me a hard time about anything (except my long hair) and tolerated all those band practices in the basement. I also felt lucky to be sitting at his side, alone, at the end. I can't really explain it. He was there when I was born. I held all my 3 boys when they were born and I was the first person my boys saw in this world. It seems fitting that I was with my Dad when he left this world.
The other thing I feel or think actually is that I should be following my dreams. Just before my Dad went into the hospital I was at his house and he walked out of the room to ask me to help him get home (he would get confused like that a lot). I walked him back into his room and explained to him that he was already home. He got really embarrassed, but it got him talking. He told me stories of his time in college, meeting my mother, being a dad. But mostly he talked about Vietnam. He told me things he had never told me before. And what I realized was that my Dad had done everything he had set out to do in his life. Not many people can say that. But he did it.
So now I have a different perspective as I move forward. I see things a little differently than before. And now that a little time has passed and I've gotten through a few challenging projects in the studio it's time to get back to the world.
Please stay in touch with your parents and loved ones.
Follow your dreams.