747. March 31—The Day Dad Died


747. My dad, 87, was in a hospital room in Alabama awaiting gall bladder surgery. I called him Tuesday morning. We talked for five minutes. Several times he said, "I'm out of breath." Then he started coughing. Then he threw up. He said he had to go. It was 10:10. I should've called Mom. She would have immediately driven over to the hospital and sat with Dad. She would have screamed at the nurses and doctors to "Do something!" I didn't even call the nurses' station to say he'd just thrown up. My dad had to suffer all alone, "out of breath" for three more hours, until he coded at 1:00. They revived him. Then they took him to CCU, and he coded again. He died at 4:20 p.m. Had I called Mom at 10:10, Dad might still be alive. Instead, I'm still alive, with this regret to relive every day. 4.4

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