Andy Howell - Therapy

Recently I have experienced the most amazing and yet the most horrible moments in my life. The death of a parent brings out every emotion humanly possible. I could not have imagined what to expect when I went to stay with my father whom was lying in the hospital in a coma. I stepped into the most intense rollercoaster ride of my entire life. The feelings I went through and are still trying to understand are part of the biggest moment in my life. These are my feelings, my fears and all my happiness. The dichotomy of everything I fell, have felt, imagined or dream of feeling. My transition and his, thoughts of not knowing to knowing and from knowing-it-all to knowing nothing.

Seeing him helpless and unconscious, I felt the fear and desperation of losing the most important person in my life. That fear turned into sheer joy and unfaltering hope as my father miraculously regained consciousness. Watching him in pain as he pulled through 36 hours of gritting teeth, groans and screaming that one cannot imagine. The anger I felt when I couldn’t make him eat, or when he began pulling the feeding tubes from his nose. Holding his hand in the night when every one was gone in the dark and alone. Mortified when he stopped breathing, I shook him and he caught his breath. Then relief when he started to show signs of improvement. Pure love and happiness consumed me to be able to have simple conversations of the best days of my life with him, even for only a few days. Then came the ultimate horror when the doctor told us that his liver and kidneys were at 97% failure, and that there was no chance of recovery. Overwhelming sadness and sheer panic when we tool away all his tubes, oxygen and life support lines. Regret for all the things I took for granted in our relationship. The worst inexplicable feeling when I realized he was going to die.

I told him good-bye, that I loved him and that we would be okay. His face lit up, tears rolling down his cheeks, his eyes wide open and focused for the first time in three days. He was unable to talk, though his eyes said to us that he was not going anywhere. He looked almost amazed, as if experiencing a feeling never felt before. One last struggle to get out of bed his body lacked the physical strength to pull himself onto his elbows. I could see it in his eyes. Realization, fear and then the acceptance. The knowledge he gave me with the hope in his eyes. I have complete admiration for him never complaining once of any pain or discomfort. My dad was and still is my hero for that.

I love him more than I can express. I am totally crushed that I will never be able to talk to him, hold him, touch him, fish with him, walk with him, kiss his cheek, hold his hand or even hear his voice while I continue living. I realized how insignificant my “monumental” daily life problems were. I was so sad that he had to go. I have to believe in the interest of a normal life. That you are everywhere, a part of everyone and a part of me. I must believe that everything is a part of you and everything happens for a reason.

Stories, memories and fears. I reminisce about our day’s together fishing and our long walks down Kitty Hawk Beach. Separating our love for each other with creative influence and teenage rebellion. I worried about what he thought of me. I think about what his experience of transitioning could have felt like. Angels coming down, people blind to love, coldness and loss of your body and soul. Does everything become clear? Where is he? Everywhere? A collage of thoughts like everything I am and do. An attempt to hold on to the moment forever and an attempt to hold onto everything. I accept only to let it all flow, come and go. Water, fire, earth, air, tears, loves and life all swirl around in the massive world, this tiny world. I wonder when they will all come together or fall apart.

It’s all too big to comprehend, so we bring in religion and science to help ease our fears and frustrations about the very insignificance that is our existence. I wonder about the thrust of life, the constant flow of energy, heat and mass that drives us to stay in this dimension. A place we fear and dread, fumbling around and bumping aimlessly off one another. I question life and death. What are these states of being and where are they in relation to one another? Does this life of energy really end? Do we just become pure energy, and is that “love”? And then death comes back in to play. My fear of it, my fear of losing him, my complete devastation in this great loss. He is still here. He’s in my mind and in my heart. He’s with me and I can still feel him. This is my love.

I can only share this taste of my experience in the hope that it serves as a reminder to everyone that we are alive right now and that we can live by being present in our own life and in the lives of our families. The most important things in life are our relationships and interactions with the ones we love. Now I know and I will never forget that.

It has been amazing to know you dad. You have inspired me, hurt me and loved me more than anyone in my life. I love you too. Only in my dreams now, and only in my mind, but you are never far away. Star catcher, there’s another start shooting across the sky. I love you always.