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🏥 Hospitals, Heartbreak, and the Conversation I Never Wanted to Have

  • Writer: Heather Criswell
    Heather Criswell
  • May 13
  • 3 min read


My dad had diabetes for most of his life. And he trusted every word the doctors said. Step by step, pill by pill, surgery by surgery.


But the disease never stopped taking—first his eyes, then his heart, and finally, his leg.

He raced Corvettes. 🏎️Played golf. ⛳Loved poker. 🎰He was sharp, stubborn, and full of life.

But after the amputation, I knew. I knew.The man who lived for freedom was never going to feel free again.


At the time, I was living in Northern California, but I practically lived in Las Vegas—bouncing between my husband and my brother-in-law’s house just to be close to him.

The leg amputation was just the last in so many hospital visits over the years.But this time, it felt different.


A few days after surgery, I went to see him.He looked like he was coping. But he wasn’t. Not at all.

I told him I had to go home for a few days, just to take care of things, and I’d be back to get him settled.


When I went in to say I’d be back soon—He was unresponsive.


🚨 Code blue.Alarms.Nurses and doctors flooding in.

I stood there, frozen, watching them fight to bring him back.

They rushed him to the ICU.And that’s when the real journey began.

He was critical. Silent.A “coma-like state,” they called it.


But I knew he was still there.Still aware. Still listening.So I stayed.

Days and nights blurred together.

The doctors had no answers. They just kept giving him more drugs.One problem would cause another, and another, and another.


By the end, he was on 37 medications.Thirty-seven. 💊

He wasn’t getting better.Time moved. He did not.

Then I heard it. A whisper.

It’s time to have the conversation.

I didn’t want to.I wasn’t ready.

But it came again:

It’s time.

So I sat beside him, took his dry, cold hand, and let myself say the words I had never said before.

“Dad, I know you can hear me. I know you can feel me.You were the best dad I could have ever asked for. Ever.You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.You gave me the resources to chase every dream.I’m okay. And I want you to know that you don’t have to stay—not like this—if you don’t want to.I know you watched Papa Bill die this way, and you swore you never would.If you’re ready to go, I will be devastated. But I will be okay.Because you taught me how to be okay.I love you forever. I will look for you in the little things.I will tell your future grandkids all your stories.I will always be with you.”

His eyes stayed shut.But his fingers curled around mine.And tears slipped from his closed lids. 🥲

He heard me. He understood.


The next day, my brother-in-law came to visit.We sat beside my dad’s bed.

After days of silence, his eyes flickered open.He looked at my brother-in-law and asked:

“Will you miss me?”

Tears.That’s all I had.Tears.

My brother-in-law nodded, holding back his own.“Yes, Al. I will miss you so much.”

And that’s when my dad made his choice.

We called the doctors, the nurses, the social workers.He stopped all treatment and moved into hospice. ⚕️


I knew he had been holding on for me.I knew I had to release him.And I knew—that conversation was the permission he needed to be free from the body that had trapped him.

Not goodbye.Never goodbye.

But—

You can go now.I love you.And I will see you everywhere. 🌠

One conversation can change your life.






 
 
 

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