*deep sigh*

I really need to make it known...

I lost my father a few days ago.

He had diabetes since he was a young adult in the 1970s; had a life-saving kidney transplant in 2000, and survived on a large amount of twice-daily medication. Eventually, however, he could barely walk; his kidney failed; he developed extremely low blood pressure, and he also had cancer (I'm not a medical expert so I won't try to comprehend how all of these came together.) Starting this past spring, he kept collapsing and needed a pacemaker, and ultimately wound up in the hospital for months. With his unusually low blood pressure, his body couldn't handle the intensity of a surgery needed to remove the entire cancer, so he spent the next few months living on borrowed time. He went to a physical rehab facility, but he kept getting worse and had to be hospitalized again. By August, he was in excruciating, unimaginable pain despite being on virtually every painkiller he could handle, and as a family, we decided to end life support and simply keep him comfortable.

My mother, my brother, and I were all with my father on what we thought would be his final night. At 7PM, the doctors said that he would be gone in maybe a few hours, so we all gathered around him, embracing him and saying our tear-filled goodbyes.

We wound up being there for nearly eighteen hours, and with him still being alive and all of us feeling incredibly sleep-deprived, my mother said my brother and I should drive home (which is about fifty minutes away) to shower, change clothes, and get some rest. Feeling reluctant but completely drained, we agreed and would return later to take shifts watching my father.

I dropped my brother off at my parents' house (he's visiting from New York) and I went to my apartment, where I showered, changed clothes, had a quick meal, and laid down in my bed, despite sleep being impossible. Soon after, my phone rang and I saw my mother was calling. My stomach dropped. I answered and she replied: "he stopped breathing."

Overwhelmed but trying to keep my composure, I frantically drove to pick up my brother, and we both met with my mother in the hospital room. Once we approached her, I completely lost it. All the years of bracing myself for this moment did nothing to extinguish the extreme, unbearably intense agony we all experienced that moment as we embraced and cried like we never have before. In his final hours, my father was no longer conscious, and I wish we all could have been there at his final moment, but you can't predict nature.

My father was such a sweet, soft-hearted person. I can't even begin to describe what he meant to me throughout my childhood. He was such a hard worker and only wanted what was best for us. For years, we had joked about his various odd quirks (mainly behind his back,) but now we're seriously regretting that, of course. I just wish my father could have been healthy and fit forever, like he seemed in the 90s when I was growing up.

Rest in peace, Dad. We love you.

I'm exhausted now, so I'll just leave something here. It's a link to a Calvin and Hobbes strip that ran when I was exactly three months old and - at the time - his only son. My father clipped it out of the newspaper and kept it on display in his home office for years. I always thought it was sweet, and now... it absolutely wrecks me.

https://www.reddit.com/r/calvinandh.....d_jan_14_1990/