Howdy everyone! It's been quite some time since I've last written to any of you, if you even exist, and for that I apologize. However, it seems like a million things have happened to me since we've last written, and I think I should let you all in on my personal life because that's just what I do. I don't know if I want to write it out like a paper with transitions and whatnot, or if I want to jump in and tick the items off as I go along. It'll be a surprise to us all, I guess.
On a minor and unimportant note, I feel that I need to mention that my fiance disengaged our relationship at the beginning of December, shy of our three years. This has little impact on the events that follow, but had this not happened things may or may not have played out differently than they are now. The first bit is going to be very detailed, so please skip over the first few paragraphs if you don't want to know everything. Unintentional disclaimer: done.
On January the 25th at four in the morning I woke up to my mother rushing into my bedroom crying, frantically telling me to get out of bed and to help her with my father. She said that my sister was in the floor giving him CPR and was on the phone with a 911 operator. I don't know if I've ever jumped out of bed as fast as I did that morning. I quickly ran into the living room, my mother trailing behind me in tears, to see my daddy laying lifeless on the hallway floor, eyes open, and my sister sitting beside of him, with her back towards me, pumping on his chest trying to get his heart to start.
I didn't know what to do; I was so taken aback. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My daddy. I went to the spot on the floor in front of him and looked into his face. His eyes were open, like he was looking at the ceiling, and his tongue pushing ever so slightly out from his lips. His stomach seemed to be bloated, and he was making awful grunting noises after each compression. I clung to his chest, trying to listen for a beat, but couldn't hear anything. My sister passed the phone to me and told me to give her a break and take over CPR. I hadn't done CPR since I was in middle school during one of my health classes, and even then it was on a dummy. It was nothing like the real thing; the simulation didn't prepare me for any of it.
Of course I was worried about everything that was going on and, I worried if I would even do the compressions the right way. I didn't have time to think about it; I just cupped my right hand over my left, intertwining my fingers, and began pumping like my sister was. The operator told me somethings that I already knew, so I dismissed her words and focused on the compressions.
I'll never forget the feeling. I put my hands on his chest and pressed down for the first compression. His sternum broke beneath my hands. I guess I was doing it wrong, and my hands were too far over. I started rambling over and over something that I don't really remember anymore, but I think it went similar to, "I broke his sternum. I broke my Daddy!" I hadn't cried up to this point; I hadn't had to to process anything that was happening. I still didn't cry, but I couldn't stop repeating myself. I continued the compressions and quickly relived my duties, giving the responsibility back to my younger sister.
I broke my dad, my favorite person in the world, the person I trusted and love more than anyone in my entire life, and I broke him. I already speculated that he was dead, but that just added to the disrespect that I felt. I broke him.
