Today, 15 years ago, I lost the most important person in my life - my dad.
He was a doctor, a cardiologist, a highly respected specialist who truly loved what he did. He passed away at the age of 64 from lung cancer. He was a smoker, and until the very end, he refused to believe that smoking had caused his cancer.
Three days before he died, he stopped eating and drinking. He couldn’t speak because of the endotracheal tube, but he crossed his arms over his chest to show me that he knew his time was coming.
I tried to keep him hydrated by giving him IV fluids, electrolytes, and glucose. But soon, I could no longer find a vein. I became so angry at myself and kept trying again and again… until he bent his arm, leaving me no chance to try anymore.
The next day, he died in my arms. I felt devastated - as a daughter, as a nurse, and as a person who would forever carry the pain of such an irreplaceable loss.
I love you, Dad.
Time doesn’t heal. It simply teaches you how to live differently with the pain.
RIP