Bittersweet March

This one has been a long time coming..I've kind of felt like a liar to the tens of follwers I have. I love cracking jokes and telling what I think are funny stories, but it has been difficult to write more than a one liner on facebook these days..So I will give you a fair warning, that this entry is more for me than for you, but maybe for you, if you want to better understand me I guess..but it is about grieving and living, and how difficult the two are when brought together.

Not sure where to start because I don't know where the beginning of this sadness starts..I will try, and appropriately, my father will be looking down at me from heaven shaking his head, irritated that I still don't know how to use a comma, colon, semi-colon, or proper English in general..I know, I know, Dad, bout time you let go of that stuff :-)

This could be chapters long, but it doesn't need to be. Because it is about unconditional love between a father and daughter, that began the day I was born, and I know still carries on..

Always being a Daddy's girl, it was very difficult when my father was diagnosed as an alcoholic. Somehow, the one person that I thought was flawless, was not. He was my hero, and it was hard to have a hero, whom at the time was broken..Our family endured his struggle with alcohol for many years, mainly with love, but sometimes with resentment and anger...but always just wanted him to know that he was loved and was worth being here. His talents with music and spiritual teaching were boundless, so creative, and so magnetic..So it was difficult to watch this artist suffer, knowing we all thought the world of him, and if only he thought the same of himself, maybe the drinking would end. And it did..Through the help of an amazing doctor and some medication, my dad became 100% sober. This sobriety began shortly after I announced our pregnancy with my first daughter, Lindsey Lane..He wouldn't tell us of this sobriety until almost 6 months later, eventhough we had sensed a change, he hadn't wanted to give us false hope.

He was an amazing person..but once he became completely sober, he was a beyond amazing father, husband, and grandpa. Speaking of being a grandpa, he really did have a special bond with my little LL, I know I am biased, but it is true, and I will touch more on that later.

He was sober almost two years before he was diagnosed with stage 4 Esophageal Cancer..and those two years were so awesome for all of us. We had our dad back, our kids had their grandpa back. It was like he wore a cape and was out to save us...all before he had to be taken away..

I remember sitting in the hospital as we were waiting for test results to come back, regarding the diagnosis..My brother, Aaron, mentioned that it felt like our dad must have made some bargain with God, pleading that if could become sober, he would give all he could in what would be the short time he had left. The brutal diganosis, giving someone anywhere from 4 weeks to 6 months to live, is terrible. Add to that tradgedy, the fact that me and my sister-in-law were pregnant at the time. We looked down at our bellies throughout his illness, always wondering if these babies would get to meet their number one admirer, it was awful..

Even thoughout his brief illness, he didn't like the focus to be on him...All he wanted was to be able to get out of the fucking hospital so he could go play the organ in church and spend time with his family. Pardon my language, it is the grief talking....

During the time of his illness, I was living in Indiana, so we made frequent trips back to the suburbs to see him..When I did come into town, and he was in the hospital, I knew it gave him a sense of relief. Eventhough oncology is not my area, I still knew a good thing or two about patient care..Therefore, the night that he was left to press a button in order to receive pain medication, and was unable to use his hands due to pain, therefore unable to give himself the much needed medication...you can bet your ass that the nurse manger, hospital administrator, and anyone else who would take the time to answer my call, was chewed out to the extreme..My dad's good friend said later that day, "I know Sarah was here cause I can still see the trail of smoke from her burning up the place." I took that as a compliment..I also took it as a compliement when my brother, Michael, informed the nurses on the unit, shortly before my arrival one day, "My sister is gonna be here soon, she is a nurse, she is due to give birth any day now, and she is gonna tear your ass apart if you don't start answering the call light." That was all I could do, cause I could not save the one person who guided me through my whole life, it is all I had left to do...

One week before my scheduled c-section date, I asked my OB doctor to strip my membranes at my appointment, to possibly start the process of labor..in the few days prior to that we had placed my dad in Hospice at the hospital..I knew his time was limited and I was desperate for him to meet my unborn child..When we got home from that appointment, we were immediately informed that my father was ailing at rapid speed. So we packed up as much as we could, and left for Chicago. Not knowing if I would need to be delivered while seeing my dad, I made calls to line up where I would go if I went into labor, since we were away from our home..I packed clothes for all of us, and sobbed as I picked out black dresses for me and my litttle LL. But it wasn't time to grieve yet. We made it to see him and visit him in the hospital for a few days..

I can't imagine how he felt, looking at me, ready to have a baby any minute, and knowing he wasn't going to physically be there for me..The thought makes me sick to this very day. LL got to hop onto his hospital bed and snuggle for a few minutes on that very sad Friday. My brother, at the same time of all this chaos, was in the hospital with his wife, awaiting the arrival of his baby boy..On that very sad Friday, I left in the late afternoon to grab dinner with my husband and LL, and went back to my friend's house to collect myself and head back for what I thought would be a long night of watching my father suffer..the suffering he endured, is the other issue I struggle with on a daily basis, it seemed so unneccesary, to have the amount of pain and difficulty breathing...I remember looking at my family members thinking, so who is going to put him out of this misery? I can't handle it, and he shouldn't have to either..it was unbearable to watch..it wasn't like the movies, it was not peaceful, it was not quiet, it was loud and ugly..and I wasn't there when it ended..I thought I had more time.

My brother, Aaron, called in the late afternoon of that very sad Friday, March 20th, 2009, to let my dad know that sweet and healthy, John Michael Folkening, was born. They held the phone up to my father's ear, and within 15 minutes, my father passed away..It sounds Hollywood, sounds possibly beautiful, but at the time, and to this day, it is so ugly and unbearable...

My brother Michael called me to tell me about baby John and my dad...I then called my brother Aaron, he hadn't gotten the call yet about my father's passing, he thought I was just calling to congratulate him..the phone went silent and was then filled with sounds of weeping...I vividly, remember crumpling at the table in Joanna's dining room, surrounded by my husband, and my best friends for life, Adam and Becky...

I stayed pregnant somehow, through all of that..the day after my father's funeral, I arrived to my scheduled c-section..it's a blur really..how was I able to walk, shower, anything? I don't know..But Sloane was born March 25th, and was immediately sent to the NICU...and remained there for a week. I really thought my world was ending..but I think I was so numb that I almost didn't care..but we survived, Sloane "Coco" , was brought home on April 1st..healthy and smiling. Her name, Sloane, means strong warrior, and that is who she is, thank God..I always refer to her as, "My angel baby, sent from heaven," and I mean it...but more on that some other time..Anyhow, that is a taste of my grief, I apologize, it won't happen often here...but I do finally feel like I can exhale a little bit..which feels good, so thanks for reading...