Mary Alice Bell: Remembering my father

My dad died four years ago on Christmas Eve. Losing my dad will never get easy. Life will just always be different. Moments when I think about him, for the most part, are filled with funny memories and random outbursts of ugly cries that seem always to pay a visit unexpectedly.

A year before his death, doctors found a small mass of cancer between his esophagus and stomach. To remove it, doctors had to cut part of each out and stitch him back together. Unfortunately, some things went wrong. He would not recover; Instead, slowly going downhill for the next year with a brave voice that did its best to hide the inevitable from me.

A few days before Christmas that year, I got an unexpected call at work from my stepmom's family. I was told it was time to come to Arkansas, that my dad did not have long to live. I immediately ran away from work and made arrangements for my kids to stay with their dad. The night before my flight, I sat alone on my couch staring at my Christmas tree crying.

Four days before Christmas, I boarded a plane to Little Rock, Ark. I put my things in my hotel room, got in my rental car, and drove to the hospital where I found my dad, lifeless in an ICU bed hooked up to a bunch of wires with a thick tube down his throat. I wasn't brave enough to sit in there alone with him. In the few seconds I was there, it scared me in a way I had never felt fear before. I felt like a coward because I couldn't take it, I couldn't stay in there by myself with my dad. So I cried quietly and scurried away from his room. I got back to my hotel room, and put the covers over my head until I fell asleep.

When morning came, it was three days before Christmas and I met my stepmom at the hospital. The doctors showed us some X-rays and explained what we were seeing. What we saw and what they were telling us was the same; he was dying. They recommended he be taken off the machines that were keeping him alive. That afternoon, my stepmom and I sat together eating hospital sandwiches and agreed it was time to take him off the machines in the morning and let him go.

I went to bed that night, naively telling myself he was not going to die. Praying that he would be taken off all that mess of stuff and somehow beat death. Then I could still have a dad, I would still feel safe and I could go home not having to explain to my then 3-year-olds why they would never see granddad again. It was the only bedtime story I could tell myself to fall asleep.

Two days before Christmas everything that was keeping my dad alive was removed and we began the journey of watching him leave the living world.

With my stepmom and a few of her family members with us, we sat in that ICU hospital room playing Jimmy Buffet's Greatest Hits and watching my dad fight death for about 16 hours. The whole time he kept gasping for breath and grabbing for something in front of him none of us could see. We knew he didn't want to die, and we didn't want him to go. It was all gutwrenching.

Each hour his heart rate got weaker and he become more lifeless, while I was one beep closer to not having a dad anymore. It tore my heart in directions I didn't know were possible. Late that night as time turned to Christmas Eve my eyes would no longer keep me awake and I had to get some sleep, and I had to catch a plane back to my kids later that morning. This meant I had to leave my dad. I hugged him, gave him a kiss on the forehead, and told him it was okay to leave this world, and not to worry about me or my kids. I promised him I would be okay as long as he promised to watch over us. After I left, my stepmom fell asleep next to him, and my dad took his last breath.

I miss my dad every day. I miss his sarcastic ability to deliver advice that also felt like a backhanded compliment. I miss his frankness when things got tough. He was the one that always told me to stop whining and crying, put my big girl pants on, and fix my mess. I miss the effortless way he could get me to calm down. “Mary Alice” he would say, “How does an elephant eat a cookie?” And I’d say, “one bite at a time.”

I miss the ridiculous confidence he had in thinking he was good at home repairs. He absolutely was not. I miss his incredible laugh that was tangled in giggles and high-pitched “he-he's” when things were going amazing. I miss the insight he had on current events. He was so smart and spot-on with his analysis and criticism of the state of things. He always had this incredible talent to take anything difficult to understand and make it make sense. I miss unfriending him on Facebook during political seasons and requesting his friendship back when the elections were over. I miss his love of making lists and wish that was hereditary.

I miss his voice.

I knew I loved my dad I just didn’t know how much I loved him until he was gone. Being my dad's daughter has always been a journey of growing up too fast. But, now that he was gone I've had to work harder at becoming that extra responsible person I have been fighting to become for all of my life.

He was far from being the best dad. But he was MY dad. There were decades when I fought with the reality and trauma of being left behind by him when I was younger. And we have always been on a father-daughter road of forgiveness because of it.

As I got older, we continued to work through it all, never giving up on each other. I have been able to realize that he was in crisis during that time in our life. But as a daughter, I never saw my dad as a human. He was more significant than that. And ultimately just the thought of my dad was what kept me feeling safe even when I was alone.

I also had to live long enough to know what living is. I didn't know when I was little that life just is always messy. Now I am fully aware of life’s messiness. And while I was hurting and abandoned by what I thought was a superhero when I was younger, I came to see he was also hurting and still trying to grow up himself. None of that makes his actions okay but it did allow me to give him the grace of being human, fallible and ultimately forgiven.

I’m never going to see my dad again. But I am thankful for the hard work we both put into our relationship over his lifetime. When I saw him laid to rest, I was also able to be at peace with the relationship I had with him. None of it was easy.

I take the honesty that my dad and I shared and I apply it to my parenting every day. When I fall short, I acknowledge it to my children and tell them why. I make sure they know that their mom is not perfect and that in fact, they are helping to finish raising me in this journey we call life. And in turn, I work hard at being that extra responsible person that we all secretly fight against.

When my sons were born I was excited to be able to make him a granddad. I couldn't wait for him to watch my boys grow up and be so proud of them. And be proud of me for being their mom. I looked forward to the days he could surprise them in the school cafeteria on Grandparent's Day. Take them on trips in his RV. Give them the granddad stories all little boys should grow up with. It hurts my heart to know that he will only live in the memories I give my sons and not in the memories they made with him.

A few years after my dad passed, I was driving to work. I got off the exit ramp and headed towards my destination, a voice popped into my head and said, “You need to slow down, something bad is about to happen but it will be okay if you slow down.” I was a bit jarred by this randomness in my head. But I listened and slowed down.

Quickly, I forgot about this bizarre warning in my head and about 45 seconds later, a person, I didn't see, was running across the street illegally and ran right into the side of my car. I saw their shoulder hit my side mirror as they fell to the road just beyond my back tire. He would recover. Had I been going any faster I would have run that man over, lost control of my vehicle, and crashed into a bus stop full of people.

A year later, I was driving my kids to school. My boys were in the back seat, laughing and making fart noises. I took the same route I take every morning. As I drove into the intersection, I had a weird spasm in my right foot that caused my foot to make me accelerate more than I wanted to. At the same time, what I didn't immediately see, was a car to my left running its red light coming straight for us.  The car missed the back part of my vehicle by inches allowing my kids to still have their heartbeats. I am confident my kids would have died from that impact had my foot not accidentally accelerated.

I know now that just because I might not see my dad, it doesn't mean he isn't with me, still being my dad and still being my kid's granddad. Still keeping us safe.

There have been other moments in my life since my dad died when I felt his presence and power. So while I would give anything to have him back here with us, I know his place is in heaven. I know he heard me when I told him goodbye, I promised him we would be okay as long as he promised to watch over us, and watch over us he does.

Mary Alice Bell is a single mom of two twin boys (but not a single parent) who keep her very busy. She is also an assignment editor at WRAL-TV.