Not totally obsessed...

So I know it has been awhile since my last update, but I have been trying really hard not to get obsessed (I might have a slight case of undiagnosed OCD, which makes this rather difficult for me). However, I know this is going to be a long process and I just need to take it one step at a time.

With that being said, I do not have much for an update. I am planning on sitting down with my mom on Thanksgiving with a timeline of Paul's life as she knows it. I figure that would be a good starting point. I can then show that to others who can add in more details, stories, and fix any possible errors. Might seem strange that I need my mom to make a basic timeline, but to be honest I am not even totally sure of my dad's birthday - the last time I celebrated it was when I was nine, and nine-year-olds aren't that great with dates - I think it is October 12th?? Pathetic right? 

The one date I do know is the date he died, February 27th. I was not planning on writing that story tonight, but why not - I am procrastinating grading anyways.

My father never led a "healthy" lifestyle - he smoked a tobacco pipe all the time (see pictures below), ate whatever he wanted, and drank A LOT! He worked a lot, exercised little (if at all) and was always a little overweight. He had been diagnosed with high blood pressure at a young age, but hated the medication, so rarely took it. His father died relatively young of a mysterious disease (can anyone fill me in on this mystery?). In other words, the odds were stacked against him. In fact, he had told my mother on multiple occasions that he knew he was going to die young. Maybe that is why he just never gave a crap about his health - he wanted to enjoy life (sometimes I find myself indulging like he did because I know how short life can be).

The irony about this, is a few months before he died he went on this health kick. He lost weight, basically stopped smoking, and I think even cut back on the drinking (which probably annoyed my mom, she says he was much more enjoyable after a drink or two). I guess it was too little too late, or if you believe in fate, just didn't matter.

In late February Paul woke up and was basically numb on half his body. My mom called his doctor who said to call 911 - he was pretty sure it was a stroke. Mom woke me up and told me to look out for the ambulance - she would not let me go into the bedroom to see him. I waited outside and flagged the ambulance down, then my mom sent me to my room - she did not want me to see him being wheeled out on a stretcher. Surprisingly I actually listened to her and did not sneak a peak. I remember hearing the words stroke and freaking out a bit. I was in fourth grade and we had just finished reading a chapter book where the grandfather died of a stroke. I called my best friend Jenny and told her what had happened, her response was something like "oh s*it!" She had just read the same book. I remember feeling guilty because the night before I refused to go and kiss my father goodnight. I don't remember much else. Someone must have come and taken care of me.

Paul was taken to John Muir in Walnut Creek and they determined that is was a stroke. My grandparents came out to help my mom watch me while she was also trying to spend time with my father. As luck would have it I came down with a horrible flu. I was really bitter and angry that my mom was choosing to take care of my father and not take care of me. While I was recovering from the flu, it appeared that Paul was recovering as well. The doctors said it would be a slow process, that he might be in a wheelchair for awhile, that his speech might be impaired, and that he would need a lot of physical therapy - but that he would recover.

Due to the fact that I was only 9 years old, and was recovering from the flu I was never allowed to see my father in the hospital. Once my mom took me, but I had to sit in an empty waiting room. I can remember the horrible white walls, and being bored, and angry. Angry that because I was a child I could not go into the ICU.  However, I also believed that he would recover - that is what the doctors said.

One morning I was at home with my grandparents (I don't think I went to school the entire time he was in the hospital) and my mom was visiting him. She was watching him go through some physical therapy, which seemed to be going really well, when everything just stopped. His body failed, his heart stopped, and my mom had to watch it happen. She was 39 years old.

A few hours later she came home and came up to my room. She sat on my bed and looked at me and I said to her "he died." I knew. Still not sure how I knew, but I did.

Today when I think about his death it is so different. I can't really mourn a person I did not really know, I can only mourn what could have been. A life I never knew. But my life has been so wonderful, it seems silly for me to think that it could have been better. I think today, as a wife, I now experience the loss on a totally different level. When I mourn now it is because I can only imagine the pain my mother had to go through. Actually, to be honest I can not even imagine it, even the thought makes it hard for me to breathe.

So, when you are done reading this don't feel sorry for me. Instead learn from this as I have. Every moment you need to live. Enjoy and appreciate it all. Eat and drink whatever the hell you want ( I have given up on the size six, I want to enjoy life too much) and think about one of my dad's favorite songs, which is so fitting.

"And now, the end is here
and so I face the final curtain.
My friend, I'll say it clear
I'll state my case, of which I'm certain.
I've lived a life that's full
I traveled each and ev'ry highway
and more, much more than this, I did it my way.

Regrets, I've had a few
but then again, too few to mention.
I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway
and more, much more than this, I did it my way.

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew
when I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way.

I've loved, I've laughed and cried
I've had my fill, my share of losing
And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing
to think I did all that
and may I say, not in a shy way,
Oh, no, oh, no, not me, I did it my way.

For what is man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels
the record shows I took the blows and did it my way!

Yes it was my way"