April 2, 2018

How does one begin to share their heart when it's shattered into a million pieces? Well, I guess I'm about to find out.

There is so much I want to say about my dad... but the words simply won't come out right. There are so many memories of my dad that I want to share with my kids... share with friends... share with anyone who will listen. But the more I try to remember... the less I can recall.

This is what shock feels like. Numbing. Stabbing. Wondering. Questioning. Confusing.

We never heard a time limit from a doctor (as if those things should bring security). He worked straight through the first 4 weeks of chemo and radiation. There were many days he just kept his jeans and boots on under the hospital gown. He made friends with EVERYONE he was around, whether at the hospital or cancer center. He loved people deeply. He was deeply beloved.

He celebrated finishing treatment by ringing the bell... we were hopeful, optimistic, relieved.

Our deepest concern on that fateful Easter weekend was that we may just have to 'postpone our celebratory lunch' to the next weekend... which as you can imagine, is quite a big deal in the Rickards' home. "Well... we'll just have to eat on that potato salad all week... and make more next Saturday."

My mom and dad's biggest disappointment that weekend was not being able to watch Steven Furtick's 'Good Friday Service'. She and my dad had really been looking forward to that. My mom was also devasted that she wouldn't be able to teach her 6 year old class that Sunday. She had so much she'd prepared and was looking forward to celebrating Resurrection Sunday and Passover with her class.

Anyway... what an inconvience that my dad would have to be in the hospital for a few days. He was directing jobs from the hospital bed. Visiting with friends and family. There was no indication that our lives' were about to change forever.

The last time I talked to my dad... I just gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek... and said "Love you... See ya tomorrow." (Had I known that would be my last goodbye to my dad... it would've taken an army of security guards to carry me out kicking and screaming.) But I walked down that long hallway without a clue that I was saying goodbye for good.

For some reason, he was moved down to PCCU the next day... something about getting 'better care'. He had visitors that morning... but was tired by the afternoon, so my brother, Jacob, went up to visit while my mom went home to shower and grab some things for a few more days.

We went home and got in bed early that night. At 10:30 , my mom woke us up will a phone call. She was distressed... they had put him on a breathing tube. Jacob, Reed and Beka went up just to support my mom. I talked to her an hour later and she said he was stable and resting... and no need to come tonight. Jacob and I agreed to meet up at the hospital at 8:00 a.m. the next morning... hear from the doctor... and figure out a plan for the next few days so my mom could get some rest.

I tossed and turned in my bed for an hour... then checked my phone again. Text messages filled my screen.

[mom: heart stopped. CODE BLUE. Heart beating on its own and stable.]

Of course, I rush to the hospital... it was 2:58 a.m. when I arrived. I still thought I was going to support my mom... not watch my dad die.

Nothing could've prepared me for what I was about to see as I entered the PCCU... my brother, Jacob, with his clenched jaw. My brother Reed... hands over his face. My sister, Rebekah, at my dad's beside holding his hand. My mom was pacing the hallway... she couldn't watch. (and my dear sister Reaghan, rushing to the airport in Nashville).

We stood there watching, sobbing, praying .... trying to process what was happening... as 10 or more doctors and nurses worked on him. My mom looked at me and said something I have literally never heard her say in my life...

"I don't know what to do."

I ask her quietly... "Did you and dad talk about about this?" She nodded her head 'yes'... "Well, what did he want?" I asked.

"Oh... he said keep him alive at all costs!"

(our sobs turned to immediate laughter)... I just assumed most people would say... 'let me go and be with the Lord... I'm ready to be released from these earthly shackles of sickness and sin'... or something spiritually poignant of similar nature. But not my dad...

"They asked him about a DNR the other day... he looked at them like they were crazy." mom recalled.

"Mr. Rickards, if something happens... do you want to be resuscitated?" ... "Well, yeah." dad replied. ('what a dumb question' he must've been thinking).

The hysterical laughing turned back to tears... and we knew ...

We all stood and watched in disbelief as he CODED 4 more times.... I was able to hold his hand and tell him I loved him, but I knew his spirit was gone. The nursing staff took turns manually pumping his heart. They called it at 3:28 a.m.

April 2... so many April 2nd's of my dad's life... from exciting to mundane... 60 times over... and now it is engraved in stone.