My dad passed away on September 16th, 2016.
My dad was always a go-getter. He was always on the go, always active. He never ever, ever quit.
That's why it was so hard to watch him slow down. As in, slow down big time. Before, he had worked all the time. He enjoyed it, he had several jobs at once because he just loved working and helping people. And then he started coming home from work almost everyday to take naps because it was just too much for him.
He had throat cancer. It took months and months for the doctors to figure out what he had. His voice was so raspy and crackly for a long time. They thought maybe he had chronic bronchitis. But my dad knew there was something wrong. But my parents found out in September 2014. It was right before I went back to Hawaii. It scared me, but I knew he would be alright. They would start treatment right away.
He did rounds of radiation and he would get better. Then it would start up again, so they would continue the radiation. It burned his throat and made him so tired. Then it began to spread. They started chemo and I remember from that point on, he got smaller and smaller.
Then he never left his chair. I would always find him sitting down. My daily chores were to drive him to work and make him lunches. There were times I made him peanut butter and jelly squeezes on Wonder bread with potato chips (his favorite) and all he could eat was one small bite. He was always throwing up. He never lost his hair, but he started to lose his teeth. He was always strong and able. Then he became tiny and frail.
I remember the whole night vividly. Johnny and I had been living in my parents shop until we were supposed to go back to school for my next semester. I was already sad that day. My dad hadn't been himself the last few days, and it really scared me.
Johnny and I had just barely pulled into the driveway from running errands in town when my mom pulled out of the driveway. She didn't stop and tell us what was going on.
So I called her, "Dad is NOT doing well. I'm taking him to the emergency room."
I started to cry as we got back in the car to follow them.
When we got to the E.R., it was a complete mess. It was honestly worse than any hospital I had ever seen. For some reason that night, everyone was sick or hurt. There were people laying across chairs, people laying on the ground, hunched over, and throwing up. I give no exaggerations, there were at least 100 people laying everywhere. It was the worst night to be there and everyone was frazzled. It's something I would have expected from a clinic in a third world country.
We walked back to find that the nurses saw the severity of my dad and began helping him immediately. My mom was standing behind him in his wheelchair. He looked so pale and sicker than I had ever seen. The nurses couldn't get his temperature because he was too cold. They wrapped him in blankets and put him in a warming bed. They had to lift him onto the bed.
I was so frustrated. The nurses came in and out and to me, it appeared they had no idea what they were doing. The doctor came in and said they were going to give him some fluids and figure out what was going on. We explained how miserable he had been for several days and how he had been in too much pain to sleep.
He kept saying it was difficult to breathe. But he finally was able to take a little nap. Johnny, my mom, and I sat and talked. Johnny began to fall asleep standing in the corner of the room. It was midnight. My mom told us to go home and get some rest. We had to work in the morning. So Johnny went and hugged my dad goodnight. My dad said, "You can't wait to nap, huh, Johnny."
I gave him a hug and a kiss. "Love you Mia," he said. And we left.
I think I said 10,000 prayers on that drive home. We walked in the door and went straight to bed. I was exhausted.
Then I woke up to my alarm. But I would turn it off and it would keep ringing. It was almost 4 a.m. and my mom was calling.
I picked up the phone to hear her sobbing.
"Hey sweetie... Dad had a heart attack."
"Is he alright? What's going on now?"
"Malia, you don't understand, he died."
I remember my whole body going numb. My mind was screaming 'No'. I couldn't believe it. Everything around me blurred and I literally didn't even feel real. I told my mom we would come right away. I hung up and began to sob. Johnny came running in and caught me before I collapsed.
He knew right when he saw me. "Johnny, he's gone."
Johnny whispered over and over, "No, no, no, no, no."
Johnny held me all the way to the car. The whole drive we were silent. There was nothing to say. I was heartbroken. I could barely see the road, but somehow we made it there.
We walked through the double doors into the E.R. I went up to the desk and said, "Please take me to my dad." They immediately knew who I was. We walked back past the now, empty hallways. There was a butterfly on the door. They do that for patients who have just passed away so no one will disturb them. The nurse opened the door.
I saw my mom kneeling next to my dad, holding his hand. Her eyes were swollen and her face was red. It matched my face too. I had never seen my mom cry like that. I rarely saw her cry at all.
Poor dad looked so small. His mouth was still open, showing his lost teeth. His facial hair had grown out in patches but he still had the mustache he had been working on. His hair was uncombed and his hands were bruised and bleeding. He never would have wanted to look like that. My dad was always put together, he always looked top-notch. It hurt so bad to see him like that.
My mom held me tight. "I'm so sorry mom. I'm so sorry."
Tears rolled down all our cheeks. My mom said they found out he had pneumonia. They were about to transfer him to drain his lungs when he started getting mad at them. He said he had conference calls and important business to do in the morning.
And then all of a sudden, he just froze. My mom said the nurses ran in the room and began CPR. They rotated and took turns without stopping. It wasn't working. They asked my mom, "What do you want to do?" She said, "We have little kids." So they kept going. One nurse in particular, didn't stop. They tried to defibrillate his heart with shock. Twice. This went on for 30 minutes until they told my mom nothing was going to bring him back.
Then he was gone. I missed it. And my mom was there all by herself.
I sat there and held my dad. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't comprehend someone so full of life, so funny, so special to me, was now just a cold, hard body.
Looking back, it's just crazy to me how the soul and spirit is everything. The body really is NOTHING. One minute his spirit was there, and the next, it was gone. There's not much to a body all by itself, it needs a spirit.
Then my aunt, Rachel, brought my siblings to the hospital. She just woke them up and drove them there so my mom could tell them herself. I walked out to the lobby to see my younger siblings, the twins, Bill and Nora (13 years old), and my little brother, Ricky (only 7 years old), with their faces buried into my mom.
I remember walking them back to our dad so they could see him. It was hard to look at him and I know they were feeling that. Ricky only cried a little. He's so little to lose a father. Even I feel too little to lose a father, and I'm married. We took turns saying goodbye alone. But he was already gone. I wish so badly that we could have said goodbye in person.
I sat in the hallway and held my siblings. Then all our faces were swollen.
One of the nurses came by, a young man in his late twenties, and said, "You guys I really am so sorry. I was doing CPR on your dad. I didn't want to give up, and I'm so sorry." He then told us that he had been in the military and seen lots of death during his time. He began to tear up, "Honestly, this is the hardest one I've ever seen. You stay here with him as long as you want."
When it was time to go, my mom said she remembered when my grandma lost her husband. The whole family was leaving the hospital room, but no one could get my grandma to let go of my grandpa. She was so heart broken. My mom said she finally understands what she felt. We had to force ourselves to go.
It was about 7 a.m. when we walked outside into the parking lot, the world was still going. People were still going through the coffee drive thru, the construction workers were still building, people were on their way to work as if nothing had changed. Our world had completely fallen apart, yet everyone was still going. That hurt too. It all hurt.
