Déjà Vu

I have struggled and racked my brain for a Deja Vu moment in response to this weeks challenge. My mind kept coming back to a topic which I have touched on many times before here on my blog.  While the subject matter is repetitive,  I lived it, and it is all I got.  As much as the events described in this story were pivotal points in my life, I can't imagine anyone who has loved and lost a parent,  child, or  spouse not being forever changed by their lives and deaths.  With that being said, I hope you enjoy reading my story in spite of the subject matter.  A teacher once told me to write what I know, so in response to this week's prompt, I have done just that.

     I woke early to the insistent meows of my cat.  I opened one eye, and then another.  The sun was blinding.  I peered over to my alarm clock and saw that it was shortly after 8 in the morning.  Now that I was awake, I had to pee.   There was no question about it.  I might as well get up, feed the cat, and check on my mom.  The night before had been rough and I hoped she was able to get some rest.  The disease was taking its toll.  I had been exhausted physically and mentally and had hit my pillow and fell instantly asleep the night before.  She had slept in her recliner.  It had been such an effort the previous day for her to get there from the bedroom that I simply had covered her with my graduation quilt and left her there.

      She looked peaceful as I passed by her on my way to the kitchen to feed the cat.  The cat was happy.  I hope my mom feels better this morning because yesterday had been one of her bad days.  I approached quietly and spoke to her.  She didn’t respond.  On she slept.  I touched her face.  It was ice cold, and instead of being pliable she felt hard.  I backed away in horror.  Tears sprang to my eyes as I rushed to the phone and dialed the next door neighbor’s number.  “I can’t wake my mom up!!  I think she is dead!! Come quick!!  I don’t know what to do!” I sobbed.  They told me they would be right over to confirm what I already knew.  My mom was gone.  I was alone and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

       Years later I had lunch with my dad one winter afternoon.  After doing his laundry and tidying up his house he had suggested we drive to Wendy’s for a bite and then I and my daughter could go on home and he would return to his house.  While we ate our burgers and fries we talked.  I noticed that out of the clear blue he started talking absolute nonsense and seemed confused.  We made light of it and went on.  I wasn’t worried at the time.  My thoughts were focused on the fact that my husband would be home that night.  I asked my Dad if he wanted us to call when my husband got home no matter how late like usual.  He shook his head no, claimed he was tired and would probably go to bed early.  That night when my husband arrived, we called anyway.  The phone rang off the hook then the answering machine came on.  I assumed he was asleep.  All the next day I tried unsuccessfully to reach my Dad.  By that night I was beginning to worry.  We decided to drop by his house and find out if he was OK.

         Something wasn’t right.  My Dad’s truck was covered in snow and it was obvious he hadn’t been anywhere because there were no tracks.  The house was dark.  Maybe he was sleeping.  I dug in my purse for my key and left my husband and daughter waiting in the truck while I went in the house.  I called out as I entered and noticed the bathroom and bedroom lights were on.   As I rounded the corner I saw him.  I experienced déjà vu.  For a brief moment I saw my mother lying dead before me instead of my Dad.  Terror washed over me as I rushed into the room.  My Dad was sprawled face down on the bedroom floor.  He was lying at an odd angle over the exposed bed frame.  There was blood.  “Oh G0d no, this can’t be happening again! Not my Dad too!  He is dead!!”  As I dropped to the floor beside him he tried to speak and I realized he was still alive.  I couldn’t understand him.  “I am going to get help!!”  I ran back outside and motioned for my husband to come explaining as we ran what I had discovered.  We turned him over on his back and then I called 911.

       I had experienced this terror before.  I had experienced the same heartache and devastation.  Here I was again.  This time, it wasn’t my mom.  It was my Dad.  The outcome was still devastating.  It was a moment of déjà vu that I hope I never have to repeat again with someone I love.  G0d certainly would never assume I was strong enough to withstand a shock of that magnitude more than twice in one lifetime.