Taken for Granted

*Sensitive Content Warning: Story contains themes of death and marijuana use.

I have never questioned why or how it happens. The feeling has been as natural as breathing ever since I can remember. It does not require any conscience effort or forced practice. I let it come and wait for the ending. I suppose I should have wondered why, but after twenty-nine years on the planet, I just accepted it as a part of who and what I am. Throughout my life often joked with family and friends that I am simply a witch and that heightened intuition comes with the territory – that my scary accurate gut feelings were a gift from some ancient god or goddess. I never really believed it, but it was fun to think especially as a child. 

I always seemed to be correct on what gender a new baby would be before the parents even got to the hospital or when the baby would be born. I always seemed to know what color or number someone was thinking just by glancing at them or what was going to pop up around the corner. My dreams seemed to be pinpoint accurate with no deviations. I have always trusted this feeling and let it lead me in my decisions and trusted it would protect me and my loved ones from evil. I should never have taken for granted what I had...maybe I would have seen his death coming. 

We had all gotten sick, the virus had spread quickly and unbiased. The kids, the younger ones and the older ones: everyone. We couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and worst of all, couldn't breathe. Each shallow breath felt labored and seemed to get heavier with each desperate inflation of our lungs. The worst - we thought - was in the first few days when our bodies ached and coughs racked out body, our stomachs only capable of handling water and warm chicken broth. By day four my mother and I were getting better. Our breathing was easier, our bodies finally free of the constant aching pain. We could have solid foods! We thought we were in the clear...

With getting better I felt more secure in knowing that my family was well. I no longer felt worried or scared that something terrible would happen to us. Bad things just did not happen to my family. We weren't perfect by any means, but we were solid and we all loved each other completely. I had trusted my gut feeling for so long, and it had been such an integral part of who I was that I didn't realize that it was gone. I cannot say for sure if it was due to me being sick, or just not paying attention, but I simply did not expect to no longer know what was more than likely going to happen.

I remembered him always being healthy. I could honestly count on one hand the number of times I had ever really seen him sick. It was never severe enough to last more than a few days let alone for him to require hospitalization. When he was taken to the hospital that Sunday, I truly believed that he would be back in a few days. My gut told me so...or rather, it didn’t say otherwise. It would be the first time that I was wrong.

Soon, one week passed and he wasn’t getting better. He needed to be intubated to help him breathe – to help his lungs relax and heal. We were informed of the risks, of what putting him ‘under’ meant but, really, there wasn’t much else to do. I was numb that following week. My gut feeling, my ‘witchy intuition’ simply gone. It was perhaps the first time in my life where I felt I had no idea what the outcome would be; what was really going to happen. I have never felt so terribly helpless in my entire life.

Another week had gone by and he wasn’t getting any better. His lungs weren’t healing and his kidneys were shutting down. Dialysis wasn’t working and frankly, at that point, was no longer an option. His body was simply too weak, his lungs too damaged, and just unable to get the oxygen he needed. His oxygen levels kept dropping and his blood toxicity was rising. We had been to the hospital multiple times, speaking with any and every doctor willing to help us and explain to us what was going on. The answer was the same every time: barring a true miracle, he would be gone within the month.

My mother called everyone together. She knew it wasn't right for her alone to decide what should be done. Every member of the family deserved a voice.

Those final six days we took to prepare for the worst and to say goodbye... 

He passed on a sunny Saturday afternoon. My mother, myself, my brother, and my sister were with him when they extubated him. He wouldn't be alone. Those few minutes seemed both short and endlessly long all at the same time. Memories and feelings colliding and the sounds of weeping filled the room, mingling with his quiet, shallow breaths. There was no gasping or fighting for air as we feared; no convulsing or seizing; in the end, it was truly peaceful.

We stayed when the nurse came and informed us of his passing. 4:20 p.m. Though bittersweet, and certainly not the time for laughter, my siblings and I thought it was hilarious. Our dad had really loved smoking. 30 years of active duty military service, and the number one thing he wanted to do is soon as he got out, was roll one up and smoke with his kids. A funny request - to us - though one my mother certainly disapproved of.

We stayed with him for a while, all us not wanting to really let go. Though we knew he was gone - his spirit, or his essence, whatever one believes a 'life' is - leaving meant he was truly and really gone. All our lives he missed holidays, birthdays and special occasions due to being deployed or stuck at work, but there was always the time after where we made up for it together. We knew, leaving meant that there would be no making up for him being gone this time and this time no one really had a say in the matter.

Our father had been sick at home with us for five days before he was taken to the hospital. He had been hospitalized a total of 20 days, intubated for 13. It took less than four weeks for the sickness to infect and destroy his body and no one - not even I saw it coming. He was only 51. When I got home, I was still numb; my heart broken and my life altered forever. My gut feeling eventually returned but it is not as it once was...the same as my life, I suppose.