An Honest Moms Journey through Motherhood

With death comes new life

With death comes new life

I woke up out of the blue the morning of August 9, 2013. I was in so much pain. I got up and slowly made my way to the bathroom. I thought that the Wafflehouse that I had eaten hours earlier wasn’t agreeing with my daughter. All I had was Eggs, hash browns and half of a waffle that I split with my homegirl. I have eaten Wafflehouse a few times throughout my pregnancy and it has never made me feel horrible the way that I did that evening. I was sick. My daughter was kicking and moving around wildly in my stomach. All I could think was, “God please don’t let my water break”. Something was wrong and I wasn’t sure what was going on. I felt scared. I prayed while I was in the bathroom that we would be ok. A part of me thought that I was dying.  After about an hour, the sun began to rise and I was able to make my way back to bed. I held my stomach as the pain eased and my daughter calmed down.

I drifted off into a peaceful sleep.  I woke up again a few hours later. I didn’t feel sick but I do remember feeling tired. I had been feeling physically out of wack for a few days. I really didn’t think anything of it since I am so far into my pregnancy. I just knew that  I was never eating Wafflehouse again. An hour later, my aunt on my mother’s side called me and informed me that my father passed earlier that morning. My father was 48 years old. He had been in and out of the hospital quite frequently over the past few years. He had a number of health ailments plaguing him. One thing I can say about him is that he never gave up. My father fought hard  for his life over the past few years. He was on Dialysis amongst other things. Complications with his home treatments often sent him the ER with infections. Things would get bad and it would never look good but every time he went in he managed to come back out cheating death.

This time was different. My father and I weren’t on speaking terms when he was admitted. We got into it in May of this year and haven’t spoken since. When I first was told that he was back in the hospital, I wasn’t really moved. All I could think was, ” Here  we go again”. He had been in and out of the ER so much that him being in there was nearly routine. I was still mad with him. I get my stubbornness from him. I didn’t let my anger towards him go literally until the day before he passed. I woke the morning of August 8, 2013 to a text message on my phone sent by one of my aunts. The message was simply telling me to let it go. I sat and thought about the message for a few hours. I knew that she was right. All I could think was: “What if he doesn’t walk out of the hospital this time?” It was then that I made the choice to let it go and to try to get to my father. I felt in my heart that things weren’t right. In addition to that, I kept having crazy dreams about him that didn’t sit well with me. After looking into trying to get a rental car, my brother told me that he didn’t want me traveling alone being that I am so far in my pregnancy. My father’s condition at the time was stagnant: He wasn’t getting better but then he wasn’t getting worse.

I can honestly say that I let go of the situation between him and I that made me angry. I was hurt when he passed but I didn’t feel guilt for being angry for two reasons: 1) I am human and 2) I truly let it go and really tried to make an effort to see him. Even though, I didn’t get to see him and tell him that, I find comfort in knowing that he knows. That’s what really matters. I will miss him the man that shared my birthday. I will miss his twisted sense of humor and his love for country life. However, I find a great sense of relief in knowing that he is no longer fighting so hard to maintain his life. I remember one day he told me that the one thing that he wish that he could do that most people take for granted is to take a deep breath. He was on oxygen. You could literally hear his lungs fighting to take in air. I thank God that he has gone home to glory. It’s funny because I think about the morning that he died and how sick he got. I don’t think that that was just Wafflehouse making me sick. I believe that my daughter knew that he was dearly departing. As the old adage goes: With death comes new Life.

 



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