TruMama

It’s been a year dad, but I will never forget.  I will never forget the phone call asking me to drive up for a baby shower.  Everyone was coming here to surprise me, but you were sick, recovering at The Summit and couldn’t make the trip.  I will never forget leaving that Friday, no idea you’d be leaving Saturday.  I pulled into the parking lot and walked down the hall to your room.  I knew I felt anxious, but I didn’t know why.  I walked in and saw you sitting in your wheelchair.  Head down, fast asleep.  I didn’t want to wake you, but mom said to because you had slept all day.  I will never forget how you looked up at me when she shook you awake.  You kinda smiled, a sweet smile, as best you could.  I said “Hey Dad” but you didn’t say anything.  Too weak for words, but that’s ok.  I leaned down to hug you.  I will never forget how you put your arms around me and squeezed tight.  For a man so weak, you felt strong.  It felt like you hugged me for hours.  My cheek pressed to yours.  My eyes watered.  I knew it was different.  I will never forget how everyone in the room was crying when I stood up.  They told me you hadn’t been able to lift your arm all day.  I talked to you, laughed with you and you winked at me. You always winked at me. I will never forget how you looked at the ultrasound picture of Tru…your grandson.  You stared.  I pointed to my belly and told you that was my baby and you smiled.  I will never forget how you looked at me that night when I told you bye.  Were you trying to tell me something?  Did you know you were dying?  I told you I’d see you in the morning and you stared at me.  You made a sound.  I leaned in and asked what you wanted, if you were alright.  You stared.  I called mom back into the room and told her you were saying something, but you just stared.  I kissed you one more time.  I will never forget the phone call the next morning telling us you weren’t waking up.  I was trying to decide which top to wear for the baby shower and suddenly it didn’t matter.  We rushed out the door.  The drive felt so long and the walk down the hall seemed like miles.  I will never forget seeing you laying in the bed.  Still and pale.  The only sound was your breathing.  I stood by your bed all day watching you and rubbing your head.  You loved to have your head rubbed.  I will never forget how badly I wanted you to open your eyes, but you didn’t.  You just breathed.  I will never forget that night as we all stood in your room and your breathing slowed and became farther and farther apart.  I will never forget how your skin felt cold and started to turn a soft shade of blue.  I felt my insides shaking.  My body trembling.  My palms were sweating and I couldn’t swallow.  I will never forget how I worried about Tru.  Could he feel my heart racing?  Were my muscles tightening in on him?  Squeezing him?  I couldn’t bare another second.  I will never forget how I walked to your bed and whispered in your ear what a wonderful dad you were and how much I loved you.  How much I would always love you.  I thanked you for everything you’d done for me and I stepped out the door.  I think you understood.  You were always a private person like me.  I will never forget seconds later when I heard everyone in the room cry out.  I cried too.  I will never forget.