Thursday, March 20, 2008

lost opportunity

When I finally got to see my father in the hospital hours before he would die, I looked at his pale skin and weak body and silently prayed that he would live long enough to meet my children. I wanted desperately to be pregnant right then and there just so I could tell him so as soon as he would regain consciousness. I remember going home that afternoon feeling worried, but hopeful. The doctor had given me hope. It was too soon for me to know whether or not I was pregnant, but I felt fairly confident that my father would pull through and I would be able to share the good news with him as soon as I had some good news to share.

When J and I were driving to the hospital that night after getting the call that he wasn’t doing well, I cried. I cried because I knew what that meant. I knew what it meant when they called one family member and asked them to advise the rest of the family. I cried because my father would never meet my children. Unknown to me at that time I was already pregnant. I wonder if he would have held on longer if he knew that I was pregnant again. I wonder if knowing that he had to get better so he could meet his only daughter’s children would have helped him find the strength to fight and live. A part of me feels like I failed him for not giving him that strength. The nurses had told us earlier that day that, although he was unconscious, patients can sometimes hear the sounds around them and that we should try to remain positive when speaking in his room. I wish I had whispered in his ear then… but I didn’t know yet that I was pregnant, so how could I have done that?

If this baby makes it, then I must find a way to have my father be a part of his or her life. I will share photographs and memories of my father and I hope that my nieces and nephews, who range in ages 8 to 15, will all share their own memories of their Nonno with my child as well. I hate that I deprived my father of the opportunity to know his grandchildren – the children of his youngest child – and I hate that my children have been deprived the opportunity to have a relationship with their Nonno. There are so many photos of my nieces and nephews with their grandfather, my children will have none. I hope that I can paint pictures for them – pictures of a man they’ll never meet, but will hopefully know through those who loved him.

4 comments:

WithinWithout said...

Entirely respectfully, my dear girl of high emotion and lovely feeling, you deprived your father of nothing.

By knowing you and loving you, he knew you intimately and knew every single one of your hopes.

And hope is all we have, when the reality doesn't match up to those hopes.

Things are what they are. Surely these lovely words for him and about him now are everything he knew all along.

All you can do now is to draw those pictures you hope you can draw, or at the very least pass on the images and love you had for what would have been their Nonno.

There is nothing more priceless and valuable than you can give, both to your dad and to your children.

As always, big hugs.

Mia said...

Though your father wont be there physically. He will be there spiritually, always. With that and all the stories and pictures you'll share with your kids, they will understand.

(((Big hugs)))

Buffalo said...

It is a sad thing, Anna. The pictures you will paint with your memories will be richer than any pictures taken with a camera.

Jonas said...

What Miranda said...