My dad died of pulmonary fibrosis in November of last year. The doctors didn’t tell us that he was going to die from it until that day. They told us he might have fluid around his lungs, pneumonia, or both. No one told me that it might kill him. They told me he was going to be fine.
I felt betrayed. I don’t know if my mom knew or not, but judging by how torn up she was, I’m guessing she didn’t.
I don’t like doctors anymore. I don’t trust them. I see them as pompous jerks who lied to me.
I still feel numb. They way I did right after he died. It was such a shock to me that it’s been unreal for 4 months. I’m still half expecting to come home and he’ll be there, sitting at the computer blasting Merle Haggard and I’ll get to see him again.
My friends have been helping me, distracting me from what’s going on. The day after my dad died, I went to back school. I needed the hugs of my friends, not the same “I’m sorry” I kept hearing over and over from my family. My friends have helped me so much, but I’ll never be the same.
I have 2 beliefs. I believe in honesty and the power of friends.
I’m still angry. I guess I’m angry at the doctors, although I don’t know why. They were just trying to do their job. If someone would’ve told me that he was going to die, the 2 months where he was in and out of the hospital would’ve been hell. But I wouldn’t be numb now. I don’t know which would be better…
I tend to choose the anger as an alternative to feeling the sadness walking down the aisle in that church, following his casket, was easily the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do. But my friends help me. They came to the funeral. They showered me in hugs when I went to school the next day. I have the best friends in the world.
I guess I have 3 beliefs. The belief in honesty, the belief in the power of friends, and the belief that I’ll always be my daddy’s little girl.
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