Death
Monday night before my flight to Sactown:
Dad: Hi Moon
Me: Hi Dad
Moon is my dad’s pet name for me. His voice was strong and filled with love. He was so cute on the phone. I can still hear his voice.
Everything is a blur. I am forever grateful that I was able to spend as much time as I did with my father. Forever. Grateful. My brother and I pushed the couch right next to my dad’s hospice bed in our family room and sat there for days. None of us slept for more than 2 hours a night. But I did get to lie next to my dad in his hospital bed. I did get to tell me dad a thousand times that I loved him. Even when he could barely speak, he would muster the strength to respond and say, “I love you” back to me.
Every hour, one of us had to administer my dad 2ml/morphine and 2ml/haladol. I told my brother I would take the night shift on Wednesday night. My 2 uncles created a bed on the floor in the family room. My husband went to sleep on the couch. I stayed awake by gabbing to Dilly on my cell. I got off the phone with Dilly at 1:10 AM. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I set my alarm for 1:50 AM to give my dad his hourly meds. My alarm went off at 1:50 AM and I pressed snooze. My alarm went of at 1:55 AM and I awoke in panic. Something was wrong. I felt it. I was scared. My dad didn’t look right. I touched his hands. They were freezing cold. I touched his head and it was warm, hot even. I cried out, “Dad, dad??” No response. I shook my husband awake. Hubby knew. Hubby checked my dad’s vital. Hubby looked at me and said, “Baby, he’s gone.” I ran upstairs to get my brother (BD). BD awoke thinking it was his shift to administer the meds. I told BD that I suspected the worse. BD shook my dad but my dad wouldn’t wake up. We woke up my mom who was asleep in the living room. She had refused to sleep in her [my parent’s] bed. She was hysterical. My uncles started making the necessary phone calls. BD and I were calm. BD called hospice. Hospice confirmed what we already knew. The funeral home was called. The tickets to CT were booked.
This is all surreal. I don’t quite believe he’s gone.
DramaHowever, I do believe that a large portion of my family is comprised of assholes. BD, mom, hubby and I decided on a closed casket. It was a
personal family decision. Of course the extended family blamed me, I apparently was the mastermind that deprived them of seeing my gorgeous father all shriveled up and emaciated from his battle with cancer. I was an emotional wreck and I kept getting phone calls from family members begging me for an open casket funeral. At a dinner before the funeral, my extended family ganged up on me, and demanded that we have an open casket funeral. I burst out crying and ran out of the house. I was so dizzy I had to hold onto my husband to keep from fainting.
The day of the funeral, my cell phone blew up, family members kept calling me and begging for an open casket. If you wanted to see my dad, perhaps you should have flown out to Cali, you stupid fuck. You knew he had cancer. You knew he was in hospice. Don’t harass me. Let me grieve.
Ironically, no one that had seen my dad in his last days, when his body had been ravaged from cancer, wanted an open casket. I requested that Fr. Bill perform the Mass, he is a close family friend. The funeral home gave us the okay. Apparently, this message was never conveyed to Fr. Moran who accosted Fr. Bill for being in
his Church. Fr. Bill explained politely that he was a friend of the family’s and hoped to perform the Mass. Fr. Moran was pissed. He said, “I cleared my schedule for this funeral. No way.” Fr. Bill made small talk with Fr. Moran who soon discovered that he attended the same seminary as Fr. Bill. Fr. Moran then allowed Fr. Bill to perform the service, but insisted that he stay for the Mass. When the Mass was over, the funeral home approached both priests regarding their fee. I had already paid the funeral home for the Church. Fr. Bill was not going to charge us. Fr. Moran, who did not perform the service, yanked the check out of the funeral guy’s hand and ran off. Fr. Moran did not offer to share the fees with Fr. Bill.
Fr. Moran exemplifies the Christian way; he’s quite Jesus-like, isn’t he?The funeral was beautiful. My brother’s friend played acoustic guitar. My brother lit a -----, my dad’s favorite past time, and passed it around. We smoked half (I didn’t inhale, don’t want to hurt future Benjabi), and placed the other half with my dad’s favorite lighter on top of his casket.
Of course while the music and festivities were occurring, my aunt (dad’s sister-in-law) started wailing and tried to throw herself in the grave. My other aunt noticed and started wailing in an even more in a hysterical manner. Then my cousin started talking shit about me in front of my father’s casket in a very loud voice: “This is all Bengali Chick’s fault. She didn’t let us see him. She ruined everything. She is horrible….” I don’t remember the rest of what she said b/c I was in total and utter shock. First, this was a family decision. Second, can she have some fucking couth? How dare she, mind you a cousin that my dad never liked and had not visited or spoken to my father in almost 10 years, attack me, the daughter, at my own father’s funeral? I couldn’t make this shit up. I lost it. I started yelling, over my father’s dead body, “Why don’t you just leave then.”
I was livid with anger. Livid. At least all of this shizz got my mind off mourning and utter despair. My best friend Dilly approached my cousin’s car and asked her to not come to the reception. The cousin yelled at my best friend and rolled up the window in her face. The girl has no shame and she came to the reception. My aunt, the owner of the house where the reception was held, asked my cousin to leave. My cousin refused to leave. When I entered my aunt’s house, my cousin said in a loud voice, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to have fun.” FUN??? My mom, who should not have to deal with any of this shit, had to ask my cousin to leave.
Unfucking believable. There was so much more drama. I just don’t have the time to document all of it.
My dad always liked gossip.
The VisitWe visited my father’s grave on Monday. We planted flowers. I asked my dad to visit my mother. My mom heard my request and she protested. She said she would be scared to see a ghost. I told her to not worry. Dad is dad, he’s no ghost or anything to be scared of.
My mom called me on Tuesday to tell me that dad had visited her. She was neither asleep nor awake. She heard my dad calling for her very sweetly. He used her nickname. She wasn’t afraid. She asked him where he was. My dad replied, “Wherever I am, I am healthy and happy.” He reached out his hand towards her. My mom tried to touch his hand. He disappeared.
The KickerMy 17 year old cousin H– knocked up.
My 17 year old cousin J – 2 month old baby.
My 17 year old cousin Jo – girlfriend is 5 months pregnant
NONE of these people want a baby. NONE. They are not financially or emotionally mature for a baby.
FUCKING WONDERFUL. And the universe decides to kill my baby? I'm not bitter or anything.
Nice.
How Am I Doing?Peachy keen. Like a bowl of sunshine.
The day of the funeral, my cell phone blew up, family members kept calling me and begging for an open casket. If you wanted to see my dad, perhaps you should have flown out to Cali, you stupid fuck. You knew he had cancer. You knew he was in hospice. Don’t harass me. Let me grieve. Ironically, no one that had seen my dad in his last days, when his body had been ravaged from cancer, wanted an open casket. 
Of course while the music and festivities were occurring, my aunt (dad’s sister-in-law) started wailing and tried to throw herself in the grave. My other aunt noticed and started wailing in an even more in a hysterical manner. Then my cousin started talking shit about me in front of my father’s casket in a very loud voice: “This is all Bengali Chick’s fault. She didn’t let us see him. She ruined everything. She is horrible….” I don’t remember the rest of what she said b/c I was in total and utter shock. First, this was a family decision. Second, can she have some fucking couth? How dare she, mind you a cousin that my dad never liked and had not visited or spoken to my father in almost 10 years, attack me, the daughter, at my own father’s funeral? I couldn’t make this shit up. I lost it. I started yelling, over my father’s dead body, “Why don’t you just leave then.”
