My fourth grade year was not my favorite year. To start things off, my teacher was pregnant and we were only going to have her for half the year. I was hitting that horrible stage of puberty that, as a girl, all you want to do is cry or beat someone up. I had a horrible crush on a boy in my class who had no idea I even existed! My best friend was going to a different school.
On November 3, 1990 it was a fairly pleasant day. I had spent the night at a friend's house and was being picked up by my dad that evening. Life was as it had been... fine. I had no idea it was the last day I was to see my father alive. We were driving home from my friend's and he mentioned he was not feeling well. We talked about other things that were of no importance. When we got home, he mentioned again that he just did not feel right. So he went to go lie down and I went to get him a glass of water. When I brought it in to him, he was sitting on his water-bed, against the head board. For the oddest reason, I asked him, as he drank his water, that what if he was having a heart attack. We were fanatics about watching "Rescue 911" and I had remembered when someone had a heart attack on it. He said he did not think that is what it was but he would be fine. I continued to stay right next to him. When he started breathing a little harder, I brought up the heart attack subject again. He said that he still did not think he was having a heart attack. He mentioned that no matter what happened, that he loves all of his children with all of his heart and all equally no matter what. He clutched his chest with tears. Then, he told me I should probably call the Cloquet Memorial Hospital (we did not have 911 out there where we lived so I had to look up the number in the phone book) and tell them my dad thinks he is having a heart attack. I burst into action. I proceeded to tell the operator my name and address and what was going on. I told her that I knew I had to stay calm in order for them to understand me and for me to understand them. The woman kept asking if there was someone older in the house. I had to tell her that my mom had not returned from work yet and the only older person was my older brother but he was in the other room. My dad continued to get worse and worse. I kept telling the woman that she needed to send out an ambulance right away. She kept asking to talk to someone else. I could not get it in her head that I was telling the truth. All of a sudden, my older brother, Vincent, and little brother, Kevin, were wrestling and Vincent got a little rough and made Kevin cry. They both came running into the room. Vincent noticed something was not right but Kevin had no idea. My dad started yelling at the two of them. That was when the woman realized that I was telling the truth and she needed to act immediately. She told me I had to get my dad to calm down and stop yelling. After Kevin left and my dad had calmed down and I had filled my older brother in on what was happening, I handed the phone over to Vincent. I ran out into the living room where my younger sister, Valerie, and Kevin were watching television. I was crying into my hands while just standing there. Valerie asked what was wrong. I was in such shock I was unable to say anything. She ran into our dad's room thinking that I had hit my face on something. After a few more seconds, I really had the feeling I should be back in the bedroom. When I got there, Vincent was on the bed, holding the phone in one hand and pounding on our dad's chest with the other. I grabbed the phone from him and yelled at the dispatch woman who did not believe me from the beginning "MY DAD IS TURNING PURPLE!!" and threw the phone back at Vincent and pushed him out of the way. I climbed on top of my father, pinched his nose, tilted his head back as best I could and gave 3 huge breaths. I tried breathing my young life into his purple body. I breathed my whole soul. I then wrapped my hands together, put them on his chest and pushed with my whole body to pump his heart. I pushed and pushed, and breathed and breathed. All of a sudden, he gasped and looked at me. Then all of his life left him. I screamed again. Pushed my heart into his chest, my breath into his lungs. When I was too exhausted to do any more, Vincent took over. I remember when I left the room, my dad was completely purple, his lifeless body was strewn across the bed, his arms were above his head, and his fingers were crossed. My sister and I went toward the living room when we heard the door open and closed. My mom was walking in with her brief case with a smile, unknowing what was happening in her family. Valerie and I both came into the room, yelling "Daddy's dying, daddy's dying!" My mom's smile faded into panic as she threw her brief case and went running for the bedroom. I felt completely helpless. I decided to go out and curse the sky. As I was out there, I also figured I should wave down the ambulance if or when it arrived. We had two driveways because we lived on the corner. Our closest driveway was not our actual "address" and our other driveway was way down by our garage. I saw the flashing lights and ran to the road. They pulled up into a neighbors driveway and I went screaming after them. They did not see me pointing their way to the closest access so they parked by the garage. When they came running up to the house with the gurney, I showed them the way to the room. My mom came out into the living room with all of us. We huddled in a circle, praying and crying, and hugging and crying. When the paramedics came out with him, they told my mom she could ride with. Our neighbor came over to bring us to the hospital behind the ambulance. When we arrived there, we had to wait. Waiting under circumstances such as those is longer than an eternity. Finally, someone lead us into a private room and all I heard was "I'm sorry" before the door closed.
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