Ready to Go

by Merissa Badali

We sat staring at one another. It was quiet and dark, a darkness that I have never experienced before. Like we were the only two people in the universe. Sitting in white chairs surrounded by black. You would think that within such darkness one would feel fear, but I just felt peace. In the distance large, vivid, electric blue 0’s and 2’s dancing around us like horses on a carousel.

“I’m ready to go," he said.

I was taken aback and my peace was shattered. “But you can’t,” I retorted, wanting to talk him out of it but stopped. I looked at him, his face weathered from years of experience and a body that didn’t have the health or strength of his mind. “Are you sure?” I asked.

Leaning in a little closer he took my hands in his, his gaze reaching into my soul. “I’ve fought for so long,” he said. “I’m ready, it’s time. You’ll be okay, you will all be okay and I will always be with you”. I squeezed his hands. I understood. I accepted and trusted his decision.

I woke with tears streaming down my face. It was the most surreal, REAL dream I have ever had. Despite what any reasonable person would do at 2 am, following a dream, I wrote a letter to my employer giving them my 2 weeks' notice.

This was December 2001. My father had been sick for years. There was no life-threatening diagnosis however, Diabetes had taken its toll over the decades. His transplanted kidney was failing, his eyes were weak, he had lost a limb. He had seizures. He was never going to get better. It was a matter of good days and bad, mixed with spurts of traumatic decline. But damn was he funny, and for someone whose body seemed to be steadily deteriorating, he had the best attitude of anyone I have ever known.

I thought all of the 2’s and 0’s in my dream represented February 20, 2002. If there was any chance that there was truth to it, I wanted to make the most of the time I had left with my Dad. I didn’t tell anyone about my dream, I mean really, how do you explain that to anyone, how do you bring that up in conversation? “Hey listen, Mom, I had a dream that Dad’s gonna die in a couple of months so I’m just gonna quit my job and chill at home”. At 25 yrs old that would seem entirely rational right! I told my parents that I needed to reassess what I was doing, that I had some savings and that I gave notice to explore my options and while at home, I would be able to help (my Dad) on dialysis days.

The remainder of December 2001 and January 2002, with exception to a seizure followed by a brief hospital stay, were pretty uneventful.

February 1st, 2002 was a Friday. Every Friday evening I would head to my boyfriends' house for the weekend, it always looked the same. I would say goodbye, give my parents a hug and head out. On my way out, my father would always call out the same thing… “Have a great weekend, see you Monday”. Friday, February 1st, 2002 was different. As I walked down the stairs to leave the house my Dad called out as he always did, but what he said halted me. “Bye Meriss, I love you”. I was overwhelmed by these words which I have heard so many times before. My eyes instantly filled with tears as I contemplated what to do. If I ran up and hugged him again how would I explain my tears? “I love you too,” I said and left.

That was the last conversation we ever had.

February 2nd, 2002; 02022002, My Mom called. She had been out for the afternoon and when she arrived home, my Dad was slumped over the kitchen counter unresponsive. She had called 911 and they were on the way.

I got home as fast as I could.

When I arrived, the paramedics were loading him into the ambulance.

He’d had a massive brain hemorrhage and was on life support.

It was a long night.

Surreal, standing in the sterility of a hospital corridor, watching my Mom and Sister trying to process the reality of having to make the decision to take my Dad off of life support. “So, at the end of the day...” I asked the Doctor, “What does his quality of life look like if he wakes up?” The Doctor looked at me, apologetically and said: “There will be no quality, he will be a vegetable.”

At that moment, the dream came flooding back and I knew what we needed to tell the Doctor.

“I’m ready to go he said”.

I was taken aback and my peace was shattered. “But you can’t” I retorted, wanting to talk him out of it but stopped. I looked at him, his face weathered from years of experience and a body that didn’t have the health or strength of his mind. “Are you sure?” I asked.

Leaning in a little closer he took my hands in his, his gaze reaching into my soul. “I’ve fought for so long,” he said. “I’m ready, it’s time. You’ll be okay, you will all be okay and I will always be with you”. I squeezed his hands. I understood. I accepted and trusted his decision.

That fateful night in December my Dad let me know what the decision had to be and what he wanted. Somehow? he let me know.

“Bye Meriss, I love you”.
“I love you too,” I said.

That was the last conversation we ever had.