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08/15/2007
Albany
I made three stops on my drive home from Albany:
One. I stopped at the first mall I saw to buy a copy of The Who's Quadrophenia. The whole way home, I listened to "Love Reign O'er Me" as loud as I could stand it, so loud that the high notes made my inner ear itch. It wasn't the lyrics I needed, or the redemptive-sounding bridge; it was Roger Daltrey's anguished howl, the sound of outrage, of something ripping, the last jagged "love" sounding like nothing so much as an angry prayer.
Two. I stopped along the highway where the pavement was being grooved for repair, where big orange signs warned, "Motorcycles Use Caution." And was sick in the dust of the shoulder.
Three. I stopped at a Harley Davidson dealership that happened to be along my route and bought a tasteful pewter pin to wear to my father's funeral.
Albany, New York. We found ourselves there by accident, literally and figuratively. Albany, as strange and irrelevant a place as the Norwalk of Charlie's birth, is where my father died on Monday.
They were all on their way to my house Sunday afternoon, winding through the Adirondacks, enjoying the scenic route on a mild, cloudless, perfect August day. My father was on his Harley; my mother, my older brother, his wife, and their sons were following in a mini-van.
We don't really know what caused it; there was no other vehicle and the road conditions were good. Our best guess is that something happened: a heart attack, a blood clot. The others didn't see it happen. As they rounded a left-bending curve behind my father, they saw only a cloud of dust. Instead of following the turn, he'd veered away from it into a ditch to the right of the road.
The motorcycle landed on top of him.
My brother and sister-in-law pulled the motorcycle off him and started CPR. With no cell service in the area, they were dependent on other motorists, who kindly stopped and offered to drive to the nearest towns for help. Several motorcyclists stopped, too, to offer what aid they could. The paramedics came. The medevac helicopter arrived to take him to the nearest level I trauma center. After 45 minutes of CPR, my father finally had a pulse.
Too long, of course. From the time of the accident until the end, he remained unresponsive — no neurological activity. I got to the hospital while he was still in the trauma center, the extent of his injuries still being assessed. That question was largely moot given the lack of brain activity, but the doctors did their job. Exploratory surgery revealed that his entire intestine had necrotized from impaired blood flow, with no possibility of repair.
His organs had already begun to shut down, rendering them useless for donation. His tissues were unsuitable, too, due to the blood thinners he'd been on and the subsequent transfusions. We tried, hoping to salvage something of meaning, but nothing. Nothing to be done save wait: Wait for the final refusal from the organ donation coordinator. Wait for the priest to arrive to administer last rites, as a comfort to his Catholic sisters. Wait for verification from the neurologist, required before withdrawing life support.
I sat with his body — not with him, as it was obvious he was gone — while my mother went to take a shower and my brothers occupied my nephews. I watched him as the respirator moved his chest up and down, an illusion of life. The black threads holding the packing in his nose. The swelling of his face. The stubble on his head and cheeks, still growing. The blood seeping from his eyes.
And I said goodbye. I do not believe in God. I don't believe in Heaven. But he did — God, Jesus, angels, and Heaven, a happy someday reunion. Desperation, shock, and a dumb stunned grief didn't make me believe, but they did momentarily make me hope, for his sake. I dabbed at the blood and told him, "I hope you're right."
I came home yesterday to pack, to get ready to go to his funeral. An emergency haircut, a scramble to find a dress, the search for a pet sitter. The details. They keep us afloat, give us something to concentrate on other than an unthinkable absence. Something to think about beyond how I'll answer Charlie's inevitable question as we walk into my parents' house: "Where's Grandfather?" He's not here. "Where is he?"
I only know where he should be. He should be right here in my house right now, not dust in a box in Albany.
Comments (1245)
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I'm so sorry.
I'm so sorry.
I am so terribly sorry.
I'm so sorry for your loss. My thoughts are with you and I hope that you and your family can find solace with each other. I wish I had something better to say.
I'm sorry.
And I wish you the best of luck figuring out what and how to tell Charlie.
Delurking here just to say I'm so so sorry.
I am so so very sorry for your loss, and am thinking of you and your family at this terrible time.
I am so sorry for your loss. I will be thinking of you and your family.
I am so sorry for your loss.
Rosie
I am so sorry to hear about your father.
I don't hope he's right. I know he's right. Just tell Charlie,Grandfather is where he said he was going...heaven. Is that not where your father told you he was going when he died?
I'm so very sorry, Julie. There are no words. I wish you peace as you travel through this very rough spot in your life, and that of your family.
oh, i'm SO sorry.
another lurker coming out of the woodwork to say i'm so sorry for your loss. *hugs*
My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family right now.
I also want to thank you for taking the time to share this story with us during such a busy, traumatic time. You and your blog have been such a comfort to so many of us; I hope we can provide a small bit of comfort in return.
I'm sorrier than words can express. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.
Another "I'm so sorry" and a hug from a lurker. My thoughts are with you as you try to explain this to Charlie.
Delurking to say -
I'm so very sorry. I wish I knew what else to say.
im very sorry for your loss. i hope you can hold onto that hope to get you through this...
I am so sorry. Condolences to you and your family.
My father rides a motorcycle, too. I'm so very, very sorry Julie.
I was excited to see another post.. but now I have a burning in my chest, I am so very sorry.
For now I hope you are surrounded by those that you love that loved him. For the future I hope that you remember him with happiness, tell his stories and speak of him often. He will then be remembered not for how he passed but for how he lived.
I am so so sorry for your loss {{{{{HUGS}}}} May you find the peace, strength and comfort that you need.
I am so sorry. My heart aches for you.
Your family is in my thoughts and prayers. My FIL rides a motorcycle as well.
I'm so sorry. I read your blog all the time and I really really feel for you with this sad loss.
Oh, Julie, I'm so sorry for your loss. Mere words cannot express. You'll be in my thoughts and meditations.
~C~
Another lurker-
I am so very, very sorry for your loss.
what an awful shock. I'm sorry.
Oh Julie, I am so very sorry.
I am so very sorry.
I'm so sorry, Julie. Very sorry for your loss.
Jen
Nothing I can say will make it better... I know that from experience.
I also know from experience that when we lose someone so dear, many of us look for someone to blame... And in an unwillingness to blame anyone else, almost as many of us search for a way to blame ourselves. I want to encourage you not to search for that way, not to ever blame yourself. I want to remind you that your daddy... Well, quite possibly, his last thoughts were of visiting you, and Charlie. And how could there be a happier way to go than to have your final thoughts be of visiting your daughter and grandson?
I know it doesn't help now. But maybe someday it will.
long time reader of your blog - I wish I had something eloquent to say...other than I'm so sorry. And I'm sorry you have to explain all this to Charlie too... I can't imagine what I'd say either. Bless you.
Delurking to say how very sorry I am for your loss. You and your family are in my thoughts.
Oh, Julie. Take good care of yourselves and each other right now. I'm so sorry to read this. I wish you all didn't have to go through it.
Also delurking to give you my deepest sympathies. I'm so sorry, and I wish you and your family peace.
sorry! so sorry.
Julie, Paul and Charlie-
I'm so sorry.
I am so sorry for your loss.
I'm so sorry.
My sincerest sympathies for you and your families, Julie. I wish you much strength and comfort.
I'm sorry Julie.
To say that I'm sorry doesn't seem to be enough, but that's all I can give. I'm just so freaking sorry. Much love to your family.
Julie, I am so sorry to hear about your Dad. My sympathies are with you and your family.
I am so sorry.
Sorry for your loss.
I feel sick to read this news. I am so, so sorry, Julie. I continue to endure the sudden loss of my own father, six years ago. I know you feel like you could tear the world apart, and I wish you whatever strength it takes to do it.
Oh, Julie. I am so sorry. Our thoughts are with you and yours.
Julie, I'm so sorry. My sympathies to you and your family.
So very sorry for your loss.
Julie. How awful. How simply awful. For what it is worth, I feel for you and your family. I'm so sorry.