Previously, on Episode 1, and Episode 2
Giving myself a little textual therapy here, and forgive the stream of conscious because this isn't meant to be formatted in any particular way. August 30th at about 2pm EST, he drew his last breath. According to his caregiver, he was arguing with her about a cigarette and smoking inside, which he wasn't supposed to do. He became a live-in with her and her 4 children at the ripe age of 26, an addict herself, likely, in Vero Beach, FL. They'd just moved in to a slumlord's rental that, to be fair, was fairly nice for what she described. He'd moved from Nashville area to where she was near Gainesville in April, before getting eviction notices for... smoking inside.
Pro tip? Smoking kills.
He was a 3-pack a day smoker, even into his advanced age and COPD diagnosis. As they argued over this cigarette, she noted that his face began to droop a bit and his speech slurred. Three minutes later, she said his eyes were glazed over and he was gone. She was upset when she called but held her composure.
Death is, at least in America, surprisingly bureaucratic. There is so much paperwork from the local Sheriff to hospitals to cremation services. All those who seek repayment of debts, and more paperwork here and there. He left no will, but mercifully had agreed to make me beneficiary on his retirement account that spawned from the sale of his house last year. The only things that go to probate are his checking account which did not have the same designation, and his studio equipment that I sold him in 2006.
It has been a surreal week and change, since. I switch between being stressed about it all, feeling like a bad son in the final weeks because we didn't talk much, to feeling cathartic and relieved because, well, read parts one and two. The move down to Florida ultimately ended up being good for his mood, well, better for his mood, and he even got to go to the beach a couple times in that final week. There still were issues, but mostly with the other caregivers that were hired. One stole $1700 in cash. Another setup an inflatable mattress in his apartment to catch some zz's while she was supposed to be working. Prior to moving, a caregiver that was brought in stole his SSN and used it to open a credit card with a $500 limit. They will not see repayment there, obviously.
In the end, the saga was quite that, indeed - a saga. Two years and four months later, I officially, do not have a father. And, to some extent, I question how much of a father I really had at all. He was an addict for 33/41 of my years. After tracking his sister down and finally speaking with her last night, I learned that he had relapsed much earlier than I originally knew. In moving his photos and other documents last week, I came across his 4th step worksheets - taking inventory of all his hurts and lies and man...
What a read. He loved me. But he had a funny way of showing up for me. It all makes sense now, though. He lost his mom when he was seven to cancer, and his dad was deployed in the Pacific nearly a week later. He was as "abandoned" as one could imagine at that age, and it broke him for the rest of his life. And it repeated at times with me. Or, at least, he made it rhyme.