My Hard Road Ahead

My Dad relocated us from Connecticut to Colorado when I was almost 14. I don't think any of us imagined the blessings that could come from leaving the only home we'd ever known for the great, wild west. 

My Dad bought me my first CD at 16: Paul Simon's Graceland. His musical influence on me started way before that, and I think he's the only person that could slip in a CD with a completely straight face, play the first song and say "It's the Squirrel Nut Zippers!"

My Dad (and Mom) dropped me off at college just before I turned 18. I don't think he made it back to Greeley more than twice until I graduated 4 years later, but I've always considered that an expression of his faith in my independence and individuality, as opposed to the alternative: that he couldn't stand the smell of the town where I chose to go to college. :o)

My Dad walked me down the aisle at 20--twelve years ago today. Probably not his first choice for things to do with your daughter before she's 21, but I believe he was proud of my choice.

My Dad gave each of his daughters a gift from Tiffany's one Christmas, saying that every girl deserves to see that little blue box under the tree at least once. 

My Dad became a Papa 6 years ago, when Toby was born on Father's Day. I couldn't imagine a better Father's Day gift for my Dad. I have been so proud of him and the experiences he provided for Toby and Norah. (He took Toby to his first Major League baseball game, bought him his first baseball glove, and they caught a foul ball together!)

I will have to bury my Dad this week. I'm 32--half his age. I hate to think of all the memories we're going to have as a family without him here. It really hurts, both for me and for my Mom and sisters, but also for my kids and for BJ. Just the potential of missed conversations, quiet times, trips, and gatherings leave such huge holes in the road ahead.

If you'd like to come share with us in celebrating my Dad's life we'll be at Colorado Community Church in Denver at 3 pm on Tuesday, August 9th.

My Heart Hurts

Last night, August 3rd, my Dad passed away.
He was surrounded by his family. We all expressed how much we love him, how proud we are of him, and that we know he loves us.
My heart has a huge hole in it, and I ache for the times we would have had with him--he was only 64.

My Dad

About a week ago I got a call from my mom that Dad went to the hospital with severe head and neck pain while he was on a fishing trip in Montana.
It quickly became clear that his condition was very serious, and after a flight-for-life trip to a larger hospital it was diagnosed that he'd had an aneurysm. My mom flew to Billings where he was stabilized (and unfortunately unconscious before she landed) and then flown to Denver for surgery.
I got on the first flight out to Denver on Monday morning (July 25th) and by the time I got to the hospital the doctors had performed surgery to stop the bleeding in his brain. The consequence of the surgery was that they had to cut off the PICA vessel to his cerebellum (where they located the aneurysm), thus causing a stroke.
Since Monday at noon I have been keeping vigil by his bedside, together with my mom and sisters, but he has yet to regain full consciousness.
On Tuesday night (July 26th) the doctors determined that the swelling in his brain necessitated a surgery called a craniectomy, where they removed a flap of his skull to allow the brain room to swell. This, along with the stroke, was a step the doctors expected, and he continues in critical condition at Swedish Medical Center in Denver.
On Thursday the nurses weaned him off sedation and removed his breathing tube. He has been breathing well on his own but he has not woken up to move or talk except in response to pain (like when the nurses adjust his pillow where he had the brain surgery he'll open his eyes).
We are in a long waiting period where we're not sure what will happen next. The neuro doctors have not been very visible in this process, but we have come to expect the best in nursing care. Everyone says he's in the best hospital for neuro in a 7-state radius, so we're getting confirmation that the team working with my dad is very good. (In fact, the hospital in Billings, MT only called 3 hospitals to figure out where to fly my dad for surgery: one in Seattle, one in Minnesota, and Swedish in Denver. We are very thankful that he was taken to Denver because we have so much built-in support.)
Please pray for my dad and for my family during this difficult time. I am flying back to Connecticut tonight, and in three weeks we are moving to Maryland. I have told my Dad that I'll be back to see him once the kids are settled. (I think he'll wonder why I spent a week in his room listening to him snore instead of being in CT preparing to move!)
We have been using the Caring Bridge website to post almost-daily updates about my Dad and his progress towards recovery. You can see his site by going to www.caringbridge.org and entering his website name, dougjohnson2011 or you can click on this link: http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/dougjohnson2011

On a side note, it's difficult to say how hard and draining this week was for me and my family. This is going to be a long haul (think 3 or 4 weeks in the Critical Care Unit), and we are nowhere near out of the woods as far as the doctors are concerned. But we have been so encouraged by the support we've felt from family and friends.
This last week there has been a lot of tears, but there has also been a lot of laughter. One of the consequences of being out of the loop as far as my parents are concerned is that I don't know a large number of the people that have come to the waiting room to visit us (visitors to my Dad's room are limited to family). So we set up "camp" in the waiting room and go back to the CCU to visit my Dad on shifts (usually 2 to the room). One time I came back to our camp to find two people sitting on the couch near our stuff. Mom was in the room and my sisters were out. I started to introduce myself and say thanks for coming to visit when the lady interrupted me and said "Oh, I don't know you. This was the only couch not taken." Oops. When my mom came back out to the waiting room I could see her start to question if she knew this lady sitting next to us so I had to say "They don't know Dad, they're just sitting here." The lady said she must have picked the right couch because we were all so friendly.