Douglas Bell, Sr

It was early morning Mother’s Day 2017. Instead of going into my mother’s room and wishing her a Happy Mother’s Day, I was woken with her telling me my father was gone. We had been expecting it for years, but that doesn’t make it easier to finally hear those words. To realize you can no longer go see your loved one, call your loved one or hug them. That sentence of “daddy is gone” still haunts my thoughts. My mother rushing into my room in tears on a day that was supposed to bring her love and joy, instead brought her sadness and grief.

He had spent years already with pancreatitis, he began to fall victim to dementia in early 2016. My father lost his ambition to be active and was mostly sedentary. One day he had fallen and broke his hip. My mother and I knew the anesthesia would affect his already declining mental state but it had to be done. After the surgery he was very weak, his mind wandered off often but he still had some sense of awareness. From the hospital to home again he was doing alright, until not even a month later I noticed his lower abdomen protruding, I had no idea what the issue was I called 911. He was diagnosed with urine retention, he needed a Foley catheter. This is where the nightmare began. His dementia worsened, medications to try and help his prostate did not work. He would forget what the catheter was and would tear it out. Back to the hospital and back home. This happened multiple times. It was hard to give him the 100% attention he needed. My mother and I both worked two jobs. We were never well off and with very little help.

One of the many times at the hospital the cardiologist said he needed a pacemaker. “Great” my mother and I thought, another dose of anesthesia on him, his mental state already poor and continually declining. The surgery went well for the pacemaker, but the issues with the Foley catheter continued. He was constantly getting UTIs. (Sepsis and Urinary Tract Infections) The infections made him much more confused. Trying to get up when he no longer had strength to walk, screaming all night long for my mother and I, tearing out again the catheter. It was only a week after he got the pacemaker and being transferred from hospital to rehab to home that he was back to the hospital again. He was upset, anxious and had no idea what was going on. (Sepsis and Surgery)

This trip to the hospital, August 2016 he was diagnosed with bacterial sepsis, enterococcus Sepsis and a tricuspid valve vegetation. (Sepsis and Bacterial Infections) They gave him a PICC line with three antibiotics. My mother and I doing all we can to make him comfortable and happy, spending as much time as possible with him. The infection took a harsh toll on him. He was on thick liquids, did not speak, was not awake often and was being moved by a Hoyer lift. When I saw him like that I was wrecked. The day before he was responsive and aware, then the next day his health had completely fallen. A month later he was starting to do well again! I was so relieved. He had been through so much and I thought wow he made it, soon he will be home back to where he should be. He missed home, he would beg to come home, he would say “I’m coming back home to my bed!” when I would have to leave the rehabilitation center. It hurt my heart, I would drive away in tears not being able to make him comfortable and happy.

He was in and out of the hospital and rehab so many times that my memory of the exact timelines are unclear. He would get infections very often from the catheter. February 9th 2017 we celebrated his 76th birthday. I thought to myself, we have made it this far and almost lost him but we will make it through another year together!

Sometime around March he become very ill from infections again. Always UTIs. He wasn’t eating, he was vomiting. I felt so sad that I couldn’t help him. He spent at least month sick vomiting, diarrhea and not eating. He had a nurse who would come out and check his vitals at home. Finally they said he had C-diff. (Sepsis and C. Diff) I couldn’t believe it took so long for the diagnosis. I knew he was becoming very sick, he would hallucinate, he was so very confused. My heart aches to think I should’ve done more.

It was May 11th that we noticed my father was listless and dehydrated. Off again to the hospital he went. He was diagnosed with sepsis for a second and final time.

I knew this was the end, and it pained me to look at my mother and tell her I knew the fight was over. Oddly enough it was a week or so before my father said to me “I wish I could call my mother right now and just talk to her.” His first son and I were on the phone and he said, “oh yeah our father is a mama’s boy.” I had a sense that my grandmother told me it was okay to let him go. I felt it overwhelmingly, I cried then I smiled. I laid by his side and thought loudly in my mind, “grandma says it’s okay to go, please you don’t need to suffer anymore.” I didn’t have the heart to say it out loud with him awake. He passed away three days later, early Mother’s Day morning. It never feels like the right time to let go. When I put those pieces together the day after I knew it was what was meant to be. He had suffered so much the last few years he needed to rest.

My mother and I keep his ashes in the living room where his bed used to be, pictures of him and us surround him, along with the first stuffed animal I bought him when he broke his hip in the beginning of our tough journey. I still sing to him like I used to, I kiss him when I pass by, I keep a small portion of his ashes in a heart shaped necklace. I see him in my dreams and hear his voice in my sleep, “I’ll always love you, you’re my number one girl and always will be.. til the day I die.”

Source: April, daughter