It was 23 years ago today and I still can’t plant an azalea bush. Azaleas were my dad’s favorite bush. We had them in front of our first house. He was so proud of them. I hope one day the pain will be less, and I can plant one for him. 😢
TLanette
It’s now twenty-five years ago today (June 14) that I lost the love of my life— my dad. His death destroyed me. He was 51 years old. He died from his decision to not take a blood transfusion because he became a Jehovah’s Witness when he remarried. I tried to write this blog post two years ago. I couldn’t. Today, I can talk about it. It still hurts like it was yesterday. 😢
One day he had a simple colon infection. He was bleeding internally, but it could be cured if he had a blood transfusion. Once he made his decision to not take blood (he was lucid and in his right mind), his recovery was out of my hands.
He had a wife and a persistent coven (yes I purposely used that words) of Jehovah’s Witnesses visiting the hospital each day. I stood behind his decision because he was in his right mind. That coven was there to remind me that his decision was in the hands of Jehovah, and that the medicines to stimulate his bone marrow would cure him.
I watched my dad die slowly…I watched him die slowly.
TLanette
I watched my dad die slowly. The only saving grace for me was that I got to talk to him one last time before he died. I watched him die slowly. He was always a big man. I got to see my dad cry and beg me to stop the doctors from doing a colonoscopy because he was in pain. My grandmother and I stared at his white tongue because his blood count was close to 3.0, close to death.
I sat in the waiting room with people who didn’t know me trying to be respectful while they shared their Jehovah’s Witness beliefs. I sat in the waiting room when they gave my dad a 10% chance of surviving bloodless surgery. (This was surgery where they wouldn’t transfuse blood, but try to save his blood.) I was there when my dad made it. I was there when he woke up to talk to me.
My dad said he was sorry. He said he didn’t know he was that sick. I told him he wasn’t. It only became worse when he didn’t take blood. At that point my dad was facing an uncertain future with a colostomy bag once he healed. He told me he loved me. I said I loved him… He died at 4am on June 14, 1999.
It was a blood clot that slipped through the filters in his neck. My world shattered that day. I’ve been struggling to keep the pieces of my life together.
Even now, 25 years later, I still feel the pain like it was yesterday. I wasn’t ready for him to go. There would’ve been so many things he would’ve enjoyed. He would’ve been amazed that Dr. Who still existed. He would’ve loved seeing my niece & nephew grow up. I do believe he’s looking on from above. But I’m selfish— I want him here.
Last summer I was finally able to plant my azalea bush thanks to my neighbor. She wanted to give me a bush as a gift. It came at the right moment. Now this summer I get to look at my dad’s favorite bus with the hot pink flowers and think of him.
BovaryCee 
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