The week started out normal; although I stayed home from school Monday and Tuesday since I was throwing up everything seemed normal. Sunday morning/afternoon we spent at the lake with my Uncle Al and Dot. Monday was spent on the bathroom floor for the most part. My brother Rick’s (22) friend Jess came over to talk about a business deal around 10 that night. Tuesday seemed like a normal day. I was feeling better; ready for school on Thursday since we were off on Wednesday for a Jewish holiday. I vividly remember coming down stairs and seeing my dad and brother about to go to work as a property manager in the city of Wilmington, with the responsibility of over 150 properties every day. I made some soup and sat down; chatting aimlessly with my dad about how I felt, work, school, etc. Little did I know this would be the last time I ever heard my dad’s voice say the simple words he uttered every day.. “love you too”. My dad walked out of the house that day for the last time. My final words to him were “be careful”. I went about my day, finishing up some homework, texting my group chat about if my mom would let me hangout that night, normal things. I managed to convince my mom I would go out with my friends but I wouldn’t eat just in-case my stomach would get upset again. My dad’s car was in the shop so my mom was going to swing by my dad’s office in the city after she dropped
me and Morgan off at El Diablo. I told her to be careful and to text me when she and my dad got back home. That’s a text I never received. Since Brew Haha and El Diablo are so close, Cammy, Chris, Morgan and I walked over and sat down. It was a nice night so we sat outside. Morgan asked me to sleep over so we all started walking back towards El Diablo.
That’s when I got the call.
As we walked across the loud parking lot, my phone started buzzing. My mom was calling me. I figured she was a picking me up and wanted to know where I was. I was terribly, terribly wrong. For the most part of what I remember it went something along the lines of “Dads in the hospital, where are you, get to the car now” from then on I felt like I was in slow motion. I couldn’t get to the car fast enough. I believe we all imagine how we’d react in these situations; but we never think they’ll actually happen. I vaguely remember darting across the asphalt, hearing my friends yelling after me, asking why I was running. All I could hear was my feet hitting the pavement. Slowly. Not fast enough. I finally got to the car to see my mother in a panic. I opened the door to her saying my dad had a heart attack and was rushed to the ER at St. Francis Hospital. I tried to get into the front seat but the seat belt had been cut since he was unconscious. I remember sobbing in front of my friends. I’d never cried in front of them prior to this. I couldn’t hold it back at this point. I rushed into the back seat leaving my friends behind as I put my head between my legs begging God to take me instead. I remember hearing Renegade by X Ambassadors for what seemed to be an hour. We got to the hospital as I got out of the car I remember asking God why he had to keep doing this to me. I’ve been to this hospital a thousand times, but why? Why was I the only kid in my grade who knew what floor cardiac patients go to in the hospital? Or that Christiana hospital doesn’t serve chicken tenders after 11 PM? Why me?
An EMT asked me where I was headed and I remember yelling at him “emergency.. I have to get to my dad”. I ran up the stairs towards emergency to see my brother sitting in a waiting room. He somehow was always the level headed one in these situations despite his short temper. I could never keep my head during these things. A doctor came out and said for the Paolino family to come with him. My heart sank. He took us into another waiting area and asked for my dad’s information, which my mom brother and I all said in unison after each question. We were told he was in “critical but somewhat stable” condition. We all made our respective phone calls to those who needed to know as we waited.. The first time I checked the clock was 10:04 PM. The waiting room began to fill with relatives my mom and brother called. My dad’s sister and her husband, their daughter, my grandmother, and my brother’s best friend. We all sat in silence knowing none of this was good. I remember seeing him for the first time around midnight. The man I knew, who was once so filled with joy and laughter was now merely a lifeless body; hooked up to ventilators and heart monitors. The first thought I had was “that’s not my dad”. I grabbed his hand. I never wanted to let go. Two people were allowed to see him at once. I kissed him on the forehead as I aimlessly rubbed his hand as tears dropped into his bed. I was losing my dad. I knew it from that moment on. The next few days were all the same. “He’s doing well. Not awake. But showing good signs.”
Until one morning as Rick and I were getting ready to go into the hospital. I had a horrible stomach ache. I could hardly move. We had to go to my dad’s office and do some paper work to keep the business afloat since my dad couldn’t. I ended up throwing up. I had to go home. I wasn’t in to see my dad for three days. If I wasn’t sleeping I was puking. Finally I gave in to my friends all telling me to go to the hospital. I was checked into St. Francis. After tests after tests and IV’s after IV’s, I was told I have a three millimeter kidney stone, and the nurse told me to get out of there and go see my dad with a smile. I limped my way down the hall to my
dad’s room. Relieved to finally see him again and excited to see if he had changed. As I turned the corner something told me to turn back. I didn’t. I rushed in expecting to see my dad alert and excited to hear about my little visit. I walked into a dark, cold, quiet hospital room. The only sounds were those of monitors and the machines keeping my dad alive. Three days pass and everything was the same. Tuesday the board of the ICU called my mom brother and I into a conference room. As I sat next to the doctor something told me this would be good. I was terribly wrong, again. The main idea was that we had a decision to make. Do we let him go, or keep him alive on machines where he’ll never wake up. The choice was unanimous. My father wouldn’t want to live on machines. As we all nodded our heads in agreement the doctor took me by the hand and told me how strong and mature I was. All I could utter was “I’m losing my dad” as my voice cracked I felt my tears rush down my face as a million thoughts filled my head. My once jubilant little cupcake would never get to see me go to college, or drive, or see grand kids, but the one that hurts the most even today.. was he’ll never walk me down the aisle. My brother wrapped me in his arms as I sobbed all my thoughts out. I had to be strong. My dad wouldn’t want me to be like this. Friday would be the day. The day we took all machines off, and let him go. I’ve never seen a family so broken and strong in a situation before this. We filled two of the hospital waiting rooms as my mom brother and I took turns taking people back to say their goodbyes to my dad. As Friday came along we were all as ready as we could be. My dad was moved to hospice. All ventilators, machines, monitors, all gone. For a moment he opened his eyes. We all truly thought he was going to come out of it, but it just wasn’t in him. As he was moved he was peacefully laying in a bed as he struggled to breathe. People were in and out. Older aunts and uncles seemed to find this as routine when someone passes. To sit in the room and watch them suffer. I couldn’t bring myself to listen to him struggle for every breath. He sounded as if he was drowning. As his lungs filled I knew my time with my dad on this earth with me was coming to an end. All the madness was coming to a close. I shut the door. Leaving my dad and I alone for the first time in about three weeks. I sat down next to him and smiled. This was it. The last moment I’ll have. I held his hand, and placed my head on it. Feeling his warmth was as comfortable as I could get. What I said to my dad that night will always stay between just him and I. I rested with him for a few minutes. I kissed his forehead as I always did, and leaned myself into the bed and hugged him. Almost laying next to him like I was a kid again. I took the moment in. I knew it was time. I squeezed his hand. Kissed his forehead, and let go.
“I love you dad” was the last thing I said before I grabbed the door handle. I heard a “love you too” play in my head, as I’ve heard a million times over.
I did my final walk down the quiet hallway. One of my brother’s friends held me as I began to fall apart about the second I reached the next room. It was over. My dad’s life was coming to an end right before my eyes. Everyone said their respected goodbyes as we all left the hospital for the final time. It was 10:16 when I heard my mom’s phone go off from the other room. I knew what it was.
My dad’s long battle was over. He had lost. I put my head in my hands, finding myself asking God why, yet again. Why did he have to take my dad from me? I’m 16. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. I walked upstairs to my bathroom.. I sat on the side of the tub and just prayed that my dad made it to heaven to be happy with my grandfathers. That’s truly a night I’ll never, ever forget. October 2, 2015 was my dad’s last day physically with me. He was only 55, but his spirit lives on for eternity.
Project Paolino 