You can measure a year a lot of ways — seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months (and those are just the obvious ones).
For me, it was measured in a lot of firsts and lasts. I want to list them, but I think over the last 300-some days I’ve been able to articulate the the hurt and sadness. But, I also have to remember the warmth brought on by all the good that was 2015.
This year created valleys and gorges in my soul, but it also built mountains — some big moments of my life happened in 2015.
My father’s arms couldn’t stop moving, even when my mother and I were holding his hands, he kept flailing. Almost as if being confined to a hospital bed during his last hours was the worst form of torture he could imagine.
Watching him was the worst torture I could imagine. I couldn’t even begin to think about how much pain he was in. I wanted to take that pain away. I wanted so much to help him during his last days.
I knew they’d be his last days — his last hours. As I got onto the plane to leave North Carolina I just knew that would be the last time I saw my father. There was no doubt in my mind. I had packed my bags knowing I’d be attending a funeral in the near future. When our social worker called to warn me about how bad it was I got angry. I screamed. I cried. I don’t think she knew what do with me.
I figured, it’s been a few months since my last post, and by a few months, I mean a completed internship, almost a full semester, and a new internship. That’s how it goes when your life becomes of whirlwind of uncertainties.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. For the first time in my 22 years of being alive, I won’t be celebrating with my family. This year I’m staying in Des Moines to work. I don’t necessarily mind, but this Thanksgiving marks a time in my life where I’m more thankful for my family then I ever have been.