I watched the strongest most stubborn man I know slowly die over the last ten years of his life. My Dad. He died over 2 years ago in a nice cozy hospital, with family around him. He was moaning as he body slowly filled with fluid, cutting off his ability to breathe. I had to beg, cajole and flat out threaten nurses to do their fucking job, and explain to my Dad's oh so fucking wonderful primary care doctor, that Dad was fucking done. 3 Days before he finally died, this fuckwit who had been his main contact with health care for 30+ years (Whose own Dad was my Dad's doc before he died) talked my dad into getting a shunt put in for dialysis. (Read extra money for the hospital) with the explanation that he would be dancing out of there in a few days with that treatment. (75 years old with a LOT of miles on his body. Trouble walking for 8 years now, had to have a scooted for anything over a trip to the bathroom.)
My 3 older sisters all wondering and crying why Dad was not fighting after the dialysis. I pointed out to them that they only visited Dad, pretty much on Birthdays and holidays, and he was putting on the strong front for them. He was fighting, but fights end. He should have died 39 years before he did, when he had a massive heart attack and he fought through it. About 15 years later they do some tests and do an angioplasty thing and discover that after his major heart attack his body built it's own fucking bypass around a clogged artery. Or maybe 15 years before that when he was in a plane crash in the Air Force, and severely fucked his neck up getting out of it and hopping to the ground with his breath mask still hooked up and almost snapped his neck 3 feet from the ground. (He had to cut that tube with a knife pretty damn fast).
Anyways, Dad chose to die. He stopped the dialysis because they were causing horrific pain to him and he was just tired of hurting. I finally got hospice to come help, and in a few hours the extra morphine that they were allowed to give him over the hospital amount let his body fail and die.
Many people talk about how suicide is weak, or cowardly, or giving up. Yeah I can see a little bit of that side of the pain. But I also see the side of my Dad. He lost his fight, after 75 fucking years. Good ones, and bad.
I think noone on this green earth knows what Robin Williams knows how many times he fought his demons. How many times he won against them. They only know this time that he lost.
Both of those men I spoke about are heros of mine. Both made me laugh and cry, both made my days brighter, it is a shame I only knew one of them.
Godspeed Mr. Williams, I hope you went to see about a girl. And Dad, I'll keep watching over Mom and the girls. Bum a smoke from Mr. Williams and teach him the ropes.
