Death.
Death can be a blessing and a curse. It can be a release from pain for one individual, while being sudden, and a shock for another. It can be a comfort to some knowing their loved one is no longer in pain, and to others it can be a feeling like your heart was pulled out of your chest and you can’t breathe. Sometimes people have both. For me, and this story, it’s both, and for multiple reasons.
I have told very few people what I’m about to tell you. I tend to keep many things private. I tend to keep this area of my life at “surface level” so I can talk about it here and there, but not some of the details I’m about to provide. I struggle in talking about the details surrounding my dad’s death because they are still raw for me.
Many know that my dad, Richard Bay, had a terminal brain disease known as bvFTD (behavioral variant type Frontotemporal degeneration. What many don’t know (from me at least) is that my dad did a Death with Dignity, but in his own form. It was not a “legal” Death with Dignity, so it was ruled a suicide. It was not legal because the terminal disease he had is a hard one to pinpoint how long someone has left to live, so doctors couldn’t provide him with his required six-month window to live and legally carry out his plan.
For those who don’t know about Death with Dignity, you can look it up and learn more about my dad’s story here written by my mom and published here.
My dad and I were extremely close. When he died I lost part of myself. I knew for a week he was going to complete his plan. A WEEK! For a week I had to go to work, see my friends and co-workers and pretend like everything was fine. It wasn’t. I was going to be losing a significant person in my life, and I KNEW it. How do you focus and live knowing this is the end to your week?! I’m not sure how I did it, but I did.
When my father died my world collapsed. I felt angry, sad, confused, overwhelmed, relief he was no longer in pain, and lost. Not only did I lose my dad, but I lost part of my mom, too. I became one of her “rocks” — one of the people she would call at 2 a.m. sobbing and not being able to breathe. She and my dad were together 39 years and married for 35-years.
But in addition to losing my dad, and part of my mom (even to this day, even though she’s happy and living life again, part of the old her is missing), I also lost several people my family called family.
We called one another members of our “tribe.” For years (some longer than others) these few people were there at our family barbecues, birthday celebrations, graduations, Thanksgivings, Christmas, Sunday dinners, etc. They were there for everything with my dad’s disease. They were there for good times and bad. They were family.
About a month or so after my dad passed, these people started leaving, too, and as they left, it became another loss to grieve. Some left because they didn’t agree with my father’s way of leaving this world, and others couldn’t handle the drama that disagreement created. Either way, I lost more people. What began as the loss of one significant person grew to include to a bundle of people and animals I considered family.
This was a BIG wake up call and lesson learned. It felt, and still feel, as though my dad was the only reason they were around, as if my mom, my sister, my niece and I were so easily forgotten that we could be thrown out like trash. It was as if we no longer mattered once my dad passed. They took what was a beautiful, peaceful ending and turned it into a horrific tragedy, and an even bigger nightmare (if that were even possible). They took a knife to my family’s heart and turned it just to ensure it was in good and tight. I get and understand their perspective, but it was also not their choice, nor was it mine or my mom’s, or my sister’s; it was my dad’s choice, with a family understanding.
I tell this story in the hopes that people learn that when you lose one person, it’s NEVER just one person. People lose parts of themselves while gaining new parts. They lose other loved ones in different ways, too, and sometimes they lose other “family” members. Death is difficult. Death is a struggle.
It’s been three years since my dad passed and I continue to struggle with him being gone. He wanted to stick around until I had a baby, as he saw my sister have one. Six months after he passed I became pregnant. This was and still is hard for me, but I truly believe he had something to do with sending my baby to me and my husband.
I continue to grieve for my dad, but I also treasure the relationship we had. My dad was a hardworking, loving, caring, musically inclined, funny, bad-ass biker, attorney, clogger, and so much more of a man. I miss my dad, and I wish he was here, but family is family and I support his version of death with dignity, and I’m glad he is no longer in pain and suffering.
I’m angry with others who felt their beliefs, decisions, whatever, should be part of how my dad and my family handled his disease and death. The other day some random stranger messaged my mom and ridiculed her for “killing” her husband, because she was aware of his plan and he died peacefully in her arms. My mom was upset and shared this with me and my response to her was, “That’s what you get when you’re open about what happened. You get good and bad. Screw him.” Although I used a different word than “screw.” However, it was the truth, it was harsh, and it came from a place of love, anger and irritation. I was, and still sometimes am, angry that my family story of my dad’s death was/is put out there without my consent because I’m private (or was) about this, but also happy it is out there so others can learn about it all, too.
My mom has written several articles on death with dignity, has talked on radio shows about it, and much more. Our story, from her side, is out there for all to hear. I had/have no choice, and I recognize this as it’s HER story, and THIS is MY story…part of it anyway. I am also aware of the importance death with dignity had for my dad, and that he made my mom promise to continue educating people about bvFTD and Death With Dignity. I truly respect my mom for continuing to educate others about this and helping more like us along the way.
We recognize my dad’s way to go is not for everyone, and we also recognize it was his choice. There was a lot of meticulous planning for years on this from my dad before he followed through with it all. He also waited as long as possible until his “window” was closing. This was not a rash decision.
I’m not sharing all this for sympathy, or to reach out to our former “tribe” to read, or because I want your opinion (because honestly, I don’t care if you disagree with it or not), but more for understanding on how death impacts us in other ways. Death is a different experience for everyone, and each death is different. I’m still grieving my dad and know I always will. I’m also grieving the loss of our “tribe” in some ways, too.
Death can be a blessing, and a curse.
Richard Bay hugs daughter Ashley Green.
