One morning I woke up to my grandmotehr calling my cellphone. I was upstairs, and it was weird for her to call me.
"there's something wrong with your father."
so, I came downstairs and she was in the hallway looking towards the living room where my father was on the flat of his back not moving.
I went to him and tried to see what was wrong. he was cold. I ushered my grandmother into the kitchen to sit down. and called 911.
In the meantime I started CPR.
He was down for hours, must have died during the night.
there is a certain type of desperation when you're doing CPR on your own father. I've done it before, when being trained, and a few times over the years in emergency situations. but this was different. I was doing CPR, and the phone was on my shoulder, and I was telling my grandmother everything was going to be alright at the same time trying not to lose it myself.
Then a big mouthful of cold dead black blood came up.
I'm not sure how much I swallowed. I know some went to my sinuses and came out my nose.
This froze my entire soul. I could taste my fathers cold dead blood. My brain shut off dead for a minute. I don't remember getting up and going to the sink. In that missing time I had gotten up went into the kitchen and was trying to wash his blood off of my face. I had my grandmother behind me asking what was wrong, but I couldn't talk. I couldn't even think barely. I was just trying to wash that smell, that taste out of my mouth and nose.
that was four years ago. I still wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, and all I can smell or taste is my fathers dead blood.
I hid this for years. I kinda had a mental breakdown, and lost it for 2 years. Didn't tell a soul. Eventually I told my boyfriend. I had an irrational fear if i ever told him he'd never want to kiss me again. but he did. so that's ok.
I hope I'm never in another situation where I have to do CPR, because I don't honestly think I could do it.