2012

Holy crap! We're already doing this? It seems like I was just posting an end of the year wrap up a few weeks ago for 2011.

2012 has been one hell of a year for my family. I figured to make it fun and hit the highs (and lows), I'd make a little countdown of the biggest moments of 2012, here at Kline Headquarters. Here they are in no particular order:

#10: Phoenix turned a year old! This was a little bittersweet for both Dayton and I because we knew it was the last "first birthday" we'd be celebrating. At the same time, it was also a little bit of a relief....because it was the last "first birthday" we'd be celebrating. ;) You can read about the little man's big day here and here. Be ready to look at pictures.

#9: My baby girl started REAL school! Big girl school! My sweet ZoeJane has officially started her long journey to college, a career, life in general. You can read all about that here.

#8: We had a health scare with Michael. It was made even more terrifying by the fact that every Dr. we saw felt the need to tell us that it could be cancer. They just couldn't make up their minds to rule it out. This was by far the most terrifying thing we've experienced as parents thus far. We ended up being so lucky. God is good. You can read everything from the beginning of the ordeal, to late night hospital ramblings, to his surgery post here, here, and here.

#7: We officially made the permanent decision to stop adding to our brood. It was an emotionally tough decision to make (it's hard to make such a permanent decision!), but it was the best decision for us. Sorry, don't have a link for that one. I didn't think you guys would want the deets ;)

#6: Dayton left the Marine Corp on a medical discharge. And while overall, he's been happier since he's been out, the transition was a bitch. It's really different for us, because we've been a military family since we got married.

#5: I finally got my own car! We've been a one car family since we got married, too. That's a phase that I'm happy to put behind us. You can get a glimpse of my newest baby here. =D

#4: Dayton was baptized. This was particularly meaningful because my dad is the one who baptized him, and my dad also baptized me when I was 12. And of course for another reason that will be covered further along in this post.

#3: We made our first trip to Michigan in almost 3 years! If you'd like, go ahead and check out the evidence.

#2: Dayton and I celebrated 7 years! Our wedding anniversary and Halloween all in the same week!

#1: My dad got sick. My dad died. I pushed through and managed to give a eulogy at his service without breaking down.

This year was one hell of a ride. And I'm going into the New Year with something I never thought I'd be moving forward without: my daddy. Last New Years Eve, I never imagined that this year's post would end with me talking about losing him. I wish I would have known. Tonight, when I think back over the last year, I'll shed tears without a doubt...and because of that, I'll consider this a beneficial year of learning and growing. Tomorrow, we'll all wake up and start all over. Screw 2012...let's make 2013 EPIC!

Daddy-

A few minutes ago, I opened up my email account and there was an email from YOU. I shit you not. It was spam...but still, I find it a little...shocking.

It couldn't have come at a better time. The last couple of days have been really hard. It seems like the permanence of you being gone is finally starting to set in and my heart hurts in a way that I never knew it could.

I keep replaying all those moments, and the one-ended conversations in the hospital, the weeks before you got sick....none of it makes sense. Did you ever hear what I was saying after you were sedated? Did you know you were sick before the day you went to the emergency room? Did you know that you were never going to wake up when they sedated you? Were you scared? If you knew you were sick, why didn't you tell someone? Didn't you know that what losing you would do to all of us?

Honestly, I don't know how I feel. Some days, I can't stop my crying spells. Other days, I feel numb and heartless. When I used to think about what it would be like to lose you, I used to flip out. I even remember having to call you to calm me down about it one day. But now, I've actually lost you, and I'm calm. I'm not a mess. I'm holding it together. It all still feels a little surreal. And that scares me....because how much more can my heart hurt? (I realize nothing about this paragraph makes sense)

How am I supposed to make sense of this? I'm here...you're not. Nothing about that makes sense or feels natural or right to me. I don't know how I'm ever supposed to wrap my mind around all of this.

Another souvenir for the books (er, blog...)

Today was one of the hardest days that I'll ever face. I said goodbye to my dad. I think it would have been harder if there was a body, but per his wishes, he was cremated. And as selfish as it may sound, I'm grateful for that.

The layout was beautiful. A 16x20 photo of my dad...a close up of his face. And it was altered from an original picture of him holding ZoeJane as a newborn. It's one of my favorite pictures of him. There was an old bright orange skidder (tractor type thing....google is your friend with this one) that he's had since the 80's. It was always a staple in our house. He won it at a company party when he worked for a logging company and we've had it ever since. All the grandchildren (the boys, especially) have loved it. There was a smaller picture of dad, and some other pretties laid out, and in the middle...a perfect rectangle wooden box, holding what is left of my dad.

I kept looking at the big picture of him...looking at his eyes, imagining him giving me shit for being upset and nervous about speaking. And while the preacher was speaking, I kept looking at the box. After 69 years of life and learning, this is what it all comes down to: a simple wooden box.

I managed to make it through the service without crying. I started tearing up a few times listening to the preacher, but I was able to suck it up. My brother spoke and I was good....then I got up to speak and I thought I was going to cry just from facing the crowd, but I managed.

If you read my last post, I had prepared a well laid out eulogy for him...and I started out with what I had written, but quickly veered off track. I choked up three times, but was able to stop, take a breath...look at out the crowd for reassuring faces and keep going. I felt like I had to at least try. I never thought I'd make it through, but I knew I'd regret it if I didn't at least try.

I sat back down and everyone was shocked that I made it through. But then they started a slideshow. Against the Wind by Bob Segar started playing (a song that I know well, as a mix of Bob Segar and Tom Petty were the soundtrack of my childhood) and up pops pictures of my sweet daddy. Daddy with the grand kids, daddy with me, daddy back in his carefree days with his friends and when he was logging. Dayton started crying, and I lost it. They included a picture that I emailed to them of Phoenix's hand laying in his when Phoenix was about a week old. That broke me. I love daddy's hands. I always have.

After the slideshow, we (the family) left the room and had to stand in the hallway to receive people's condolences. People kept coming up to me telling me how great I did and how surprised they were. People seriously had no faith in me to get through it, and I think that's one of the reasons that I was able to. He would have told me to muscle through it just to spite them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PmrkY-EZy74

I love you, daddy.

For Daddy

My dad was the best man that I have ever known, 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 didn’t, even when it meant supporting me in something that he didn’t necessarily agree with. Because that’s what 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 to make them smile, 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 describe the sense of loss felt by my family, my dad’s church family, and his friends today.

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 going to be able to manage sitting in church without looking over and seeing him 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 daddy would insist that I do, 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.

Saturday at 2pm, family and friends will gather to say their final goodbyes to my dad. Or his ashes. I've never been to a funeral (er, service) where someone was cremated and I'm not sure exactly what to expect (Is it going to be as upsetting as it would be to see his body? Will I still have closure?). I'd really like to say a few words, but 1, I'm not good in front of crowds and 2, it's hard to be optimistic about those public speaking spills when your mother flat out tells you, "I don't think you can do it". Thanks for the vote of confidence there, mom. I'd like to push past the fear of the crowd and the emotions (that I may lose control of) and do it for my dad...but I just don't know. Besides, what do you say about/to someone when it's the last time you get to say it?

I'm not sure what my deal is. I haven't cried since I got the news Tuesday afternoon. I did a lot of crying while he was in the hospital, while I was at the hospital, while I was talking to him and holding his hands. But now, it's almost like I've run out of tears. Maybe I did a good job of psyching myself up for it before he actually passed away. I never felt very optimistic about the outcome. I just knew. I wonder if he knew. I wonder if he knew I was there after he was sedated, I wonder if he heard me.

My dad was the best man I've ever known. He was funny and practical and frustrating and a sarcastic pain in the ass. But he was my daddy. Logically, I always knew the time would come to say goodbye to my dad, but I never imagined it would be at the age of 25. It's terrifying, losing a parent. It's even more terrifying when it's so sudden and you realize that life really can be taken from us at any moment.

It doesn't make sense. My dad was a hard worker. He worked up until the day before he went to the emergency room. He was healthy (so it appeared). He was a man of strong faith. In fact, he baptized me at the age of 12, and Dayton on New Year's day of this year. And just like that...he was snatched away from us. And from gallstone (gallbladder) pancreatitis. I've never even heard of it. It doesn't even sound scary. And it's not like he had this horrible cancer that ate away at him for months on end. No, this bitch came and took him in 11 days. Eleven DAYS (Well, 11 days from onset of symptoms to death. They say that his pancreas had "been sick" for a long time). One of the last things he said to me was "I thought I'd done good...then I come all this way for everything to go all wrong at once". And he was right. First he was diagnosed with kidney stones, then gall stones, then critical pancreatitis, then his lungs filled with fluid, then his kidneys started failing....it was one thing after another. It just isn't fair. Maybe I'm still in shock (yes, this just occurred to me).

Rest well, Daddy

Yesterday, December 11th at 3:23pm, my daddy passed away peacefully from gallstone pancreatitis.

For those of you who don't know, he went to the ER on Thursday (the 29th) morning for severe stomach pain and vomitting. By Friday night, he was having trouble breathing (that was the last time I saw him conscious), by Saturday morning he was on partial life support, by Sunday morning his kidney function had dramatically declined, by Sunday night he was on full life support, and early yesterday afternoon, they stopped his blood pressure meds that were struggling to keep his bottom number in the low 40's. It took just a few short hours for his body to give up after they stopped the meds.

My daddy was the best man that I've ever known, and I honestly don't know how my heart will ever begin to heal.

Dear Daddy,

About three times today, Michael has come up to me with his little heart broken, asking about Papa. The first time, he told me that we needed to go get you so he could bring you back to his house, because he could take better care of you and he could make you better. The second time, he said his heart hurt because he was worried about his papa. And the third time, he curled up in my lap crying, telling me he was worried about you...asking when he could talk to you, and begging me to go get you from the hospital.

These babies love you so much...but they don't have anything on me. My world will stop spinning if you don't get better. I won't make it without my daddy. So you HAVE to get better. You haven't had a chance to share a cup of sweet tea with Phoenix yet. You haven't helped me teach ZoeJane to read (though she's doing so good...you would be so proud of her!), you haven't been able to play "baseball" with them yet. And you haven't been able to show Michael-man the joy of a good race. I need you, daddy. I need you to teach me how to be the best parent I can be. I need you to help me make sense of this crazy family. I need you...period. I love you so, so much. I'm sorry I can't be there right now. I know that you would want me making things as normal as possible for the kids. And mom and I aren't getting along right now (which I know you would hate).

As soon as you wake up, no one will be able to pry me from your bedside. And the same goes for if anything goes south. I love you so much. I want to curl up in that bed and just be with you. It hurts to fall asleep not knowing what will happen. It hurts to wake up knowing that you're sick. And it scares me that you don't know how much I love you. I've taken you for granted so much for too long. I'm so sorry. I'll never be able to show you how much you mean to me...or how much you've ALWAYS meant to me. My childhood memories are brighter because of you. I married Dayton because I knew he would be the same kind of daddy you were/are. He is taking good care of us...but I need YOU.

I love you daddy. Don't ever forget it. 

Love, YOUR Carabear.

No adequate title...

There are no words to describe the pain flowing through my veins right now, but I am going to make a desperate attempt.

On Wednesday night, my dad started vomiting and having severe stomach pains. By Thursday morning, he went to the ER. There they found two large kidney stones that they were going to have to remove surgically. While they were waiting to start that, they got blood results back indicating an issue with his pancreas. They did a CT scan and found critical pancreatitis and a gallbladder FULL of stones...hundreds of them. There was also a large stone blocking the duct from the gallbladder to the pancreas. He was admitted.

They removed the blockage to his pancreas. Overnight from Thursday to Friday, he started having trouble breathing and his enzymes started getting worse. They moved him to ICU.

I picked ZoeJane up from school early, grabbed a few things from home, picked Dayton up from work early and we went. I saw him, with tubes down his nose and in his arms....it was the scariest thing I've ever seen. My strong, healthy dad...lying helpless. He was conscious then, so I was able to talk to him...tell him that I loved him...crack a few jokes. Then I left the room and lost it. He looked so old, so frail, so...not my daddy. I was able to go back in a few minutes later, this time with Dayton. Daddy loves Dayton. And he perked right up. It was so funny. Here is this big tough man, lying in a hospital bed, having trouble breathing....and he perks right up to see his son in law. Once again, when we left, I lost it. But I was able to hold his hand while I was there. I've loved his hands since I was a little girl.

Saturday morning, I got the call that if they didn't put him on a vent, he was going to die. His heart was giving out from all the hard work he was putting into breathing. This breaks my heart, because he is so scared of hospitals. Thankfully, they sedated him before doing anything. He's been sedated ever since.

I spent about 6 hours up there yesterday. I was able to see him three times. I did a lot of crying. A lot of talking. A lot of holding his hands. His vitals have stayed stable, which is good...but now his kidneys are failing. Since last night, they dropped down to about 17% functionality. The latest is basically the doctor telling us to prepare ourselves. He said they're doing everything they can, but it's not looking good and that it would be a "remarkable breakthrough" if he survives. Exactly what my gut has been telling me.

As a daughter, this is unbearable. As a daddy's girl, this is the worst thing that could ever happen. My heart is broken. My world has stopped spinning. To make matters worse, my mother has pulled out all the stops in her jealousy and need for control. She told me today that I can get information from her from now on, instead of from dad's nurses...but if I was going to continue to pass that information along to my siblings (her step kids), she would no longer give her information. I replied with "If you're willing to go that low, we will not be speaking anymore". She was fine with that and hung up on me (for the second time in about 5 minutes). I did manage to let her know (before she hung up) that his kids are part of this family too, and that they had just as much of a right to information as the rest of us. I told her that daddy would never want this (he wouldn't)...that he would want his kids involved. She said I didn't know what he wanted. I told her that daddy would be so disappointed in her. And he would. Actually, "disappointed" is an understatement. He would be livid, and rightfully so.

Seeing my daddy lying in that hospital bed....it was like looking at superman facing his kryptonite. It was unbearable. But I never let him hear me cry (if he can hear me). I made it full of stupid jokes that he'd appreciate and a few things that I needed to say. The waiting is unbearable. I'm scared that he's suffering. I'm scared that if he wakes up, he'll be terrified. I'm scared that this is the end of the road. I'm scared that I won't recover if it is. I'm scared of the inevitable shit storm that will happen within this family. Daddy has always been the peacekeeper, the buffer, and the glue. This family won't recover if we lose him.

They say if by some miracle he survives, this will effect him for the rest of his life. He'll never be the same. He will have to shape his life around what happened and the damage done to his body. He will not be happy about that.

How do you handle losing a parent? Especially when that parent is your only stable parent? How does a girl handle losing her daddy? How do you handle the waiting? How do you handle knowing he's suffering? Where's the instruction guide for learning to lose a parent?