Hello, friend.

This fundraiser is to help with expenses as I manage the death of my father (such as attorney’s fees, cremation services, travel expenses, time off of work). I’ve done my best to detail events below, for those who are curious. These are the most tender parts of my private life, so I have omitted some parts of this story out of respect for others. Recent events have been overwhelming and I could not do this without the support of my community. From the bottom of my heart, thank you thank you thank you.

xoxo,

Linda

On Monday February 9th, I made the decision to compassionately withdraw care from my father who suffered a severe hemorrhagic stroke two weeks prior.

Monday was the first time I’ve seen him in 20 years.

My dad was a truck driver. He was found unresponsive in his semi truck in Florida, 900 miles from his home. 500 miles from my home. As his next of kin, I was contacted to make medical decisions for him, since he unable to make his own.

He was in the ICU and unresponsive, but stabilized. The bleeding was very large and his brain was swelling dangerously from the trauma, so they performed surgery to remove a piece of his skull to give his brain more room to swell. Surgery went well, but he continued to be unresponsive. His doctors said he would most likely never wake up. The stroke badly damaged the language center of his brain. In the unlikely event that he did wake up, he wouldn’t be able to speak OR understand anything being said to him. His communication would be limited to indicating when he is in pain. He would be permanently paralyzed on his right side. He would need a permanent feeding and breathing tube. He would have to stay in Florida, alone and far away from anyone who loved him, in a care facility. He would not be able to take care of any of his own needs. He would need 24/7 professional care. He would feel the pain of being bed bound and poked with needles. He would be highly susceptible to infections and pneumonia, even with the best of care.

My parents divorced when I was a teenager, and my father had made it clear that he did not want a relationship with me. The feeling was mutual. I didn’t know the person he became over the past two decades, but I was called upon to decide what he would have wanted for himself…

So I called his friends, family, coworkers. I heard so many stories about the person he was through the eyes of the people that loved and knew him best. Slow, pokey, patient. He lived full-time in his semi truck with his small dog. Traveling the same north/south route for work. What he lacked in indoor plumbing, he made up for in peculiar hobby vehicles. He had a big heart. He was always running late. He loved to fix his motorcycles and other hobby toys.

They didn’t know it, but they were describing me.

My dad had incredibly abusive parents. It’s not an excuse for the way he treated my mother and I, it’s just the fact of it. He was a sensitive, neurodivergent man growing up under the cruel pressures of patriarchy and capitalism. He never had permission to cry. He never had a diagnosis nor all of the language, community, and validation that comes with it. He was a gentle person born into a brutal world. In his own way, he made miles of progress between his generation in mine. I never went to school with still-bloody belt marks on my bottom, unable to sit in my chair.

I never hated my dad. I just wanted to go my own way. And I always hoped he would make a life he loved for himself.

Talking to the people closest to him made one thing clear: he would not choose to live hooked up to tubes for all his basic life needs, warehoused in a care facility in Florida, alone and far away from home, locked inside himself from brain damage. He never took good care of his health and struggled with depression in the best of times. He spoke it plainly to friends, “Pull the plug, if I’m ever like that.”

The only peace I can find in this situation, is that his own wishes for his self and body are being honored.

I am deeply grateful to everyone who helped inform this decision with their love and stories and knowledge of who my dad was and what he would have wanted. This was too weighty a burden to carry alone.

No matter the conditions, it feels terrible and wrong to be asked to make this decision. My father was a Christian, and it has been asked, “Shouldn’t we leave this in God’s hands?” But if God’s hands are guiding any of us, then I’m glad they guided my father to an end where he won’t be alone and he won’t be in pain. May we all be so fortunate.

I arrived in Florida on Sunday. I expected to be back in New Orleans by Wednesday. On Monday, the doctors began withdrawing care by removing the breathing tube that was down his throat. The doctors expected him to pass within minutes of being off the ventilator. But he was able to breathe a little on his own, just enough that he did not pass quickly.

Narrator: “She would not be back in New Orleans by Wednesday.”

Many things have troubled my heart, but the thought of him dying alone has been unbearable.

So I extended my rental car reservation. A couple of times. I’ve stayed with him as much as possible. Hospice allowed my dogs to visit. I’ve had some support from friends and family. But for the most part, my dad and I are far away from everything that either of us knew.

I sing to him. Play songs on my ukulele. I had recently purchased a copy of Frankenstein, and it was the only book in my hastily packed bag. So I read to him. An enduring tale on the wonders of creation; the horrors of loss and neglect. I hold his hand. I read messages that people have sent, an opportunity to say their last words to a person they knew well and are devastated to lose. The nurses bring me meals. I eat and care for myself as best I can. I offered him the grace and forgiveness I had always felt in my heart. I listen to his breathing change- sometimes quiet, sometimes gurgled. I make phone calls about cremation, pay bills, and update loved ones on his condition. I’m watching him die as slowly as he ever walked through an aisle at the grocery store, noticing every little thing. He could never be rushed. I don’t like to rush, either.

I am missing work. I miss home. I might miss Mardi Gras.

I don’t know how much more time we have. The doctors say it’s unknowable. It feels like I’ve been here for weeks, even though it’s only been days. But it’s given me such an opportunity to process, grieve, and make peace. More peace than I expected.

I don’t have a tidy lesson with which to end this, probably because I am still in the middle of it. But I leave you with this prayer, this promise:

magic is real,

good things are coming,

& I love you!