Chapter 1 - Hello Goodbye

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Hi. Welcome to the first episode of Call Her Cat. I'd like to start by saying thank you for taking the time to listen to my podcast. It's not just a podcast, it's my life story. And I'm putting it out there for the world to hear in hopes that it can help somebody. Make a change. Make a dent and people feeling alone or feeling sad. I don't have the most professional equipment, but I'm just doing it at home. I'm gonna make mistakes. There's gonna be a learning curve. And I hope that you'll stick with me through this process. And I hope that we can grow and expand together and do some pretty cool things. Growing up in an alcoholic home, you don't often realize the damage and trauma that you've endured until you've left that home. In my experience, the home didn't leave me. My parents have been divorced well over 20 years. My mother's moved on. Um, you know, she married a great guy. Uh my father unfortunately passed away. But the scars remain. And though I used to be ashamed of those scars, I believe that they were the only true thing that defined me. I'm choosing to believe that the scars can make a difference. And that if I show people my scars, they'll learn to acknowledge theirs and find the beauty in them too. There is beauty in the pain, and there is beauty in the struggle. And if that's one thing that it can get across to everybody, it's that. Your struggle has a purpose. Your struggle is beautiful, even if you don't feel it, even if it doesn't seem it. So I'm gonna start at the end a little bit and then work my way back. I'm gonna talk, um, I'm gonna introduce you to my family by talking about the passing of my father because I think that sets a good scene um to go forward from there. The first chapter is called A Family Torn Chapter 1, Hello Goodbye Introduction. What you are about to read and hear goes far past just the story of my life. A story is defined as an account of imaginary or real people and events told for entertainment. There is nothing imaginary about what you are about to read, and though there may be entertaining parts, I wouldn't call it entertainment. This is a very deep story with very deep characters who carry very deep wounds. I hope as you read this you can not only get to know me and my family, but get to know your own family, your wounds, healed and unhealed, and maybe hopefully find some healing, find some forgiveness, find some hope. Spoiler alert, there is no happy ending because often in life happy endings are hard to come by, and they are just plain old not realistic, no matter how much we long for them. When you look at a dysfunctional family, you are seeing something far deeper than the family. You are seeing generational trauma unhealed and unfolding before your eyes. It's not pretty, but it's real, and I promise to be real with you, especially about me. My flaws and defects are for the world to see and interpret it any way you would like, but just know they can't be used against me because I own them. They are part of me, healed or unhealed. I own them, they no longer own me. Like myself, my family is flawed too. There's a lot we have gone through and a lot more to go through. This story, this book, resembles more a chapter in our life than the whole story. With that said, let's begin. Sincerely, the Lost Child, Catherine Mary Adassowitz. The Lost Child is a family member who retreats from family dysfunction often due to feeling overwhelmed. They may spend a lot of time alone, pursue singular interests, and or struggle to establish or maintain relationships with others. We all had a role and that was mine, and sometimes to this day it still is. A personal note about being the lost child in the family of an alcoholic home. People forget you're there, and you see things you shouldn't see or that they don't think you saw. Chapter one A Life Unknown Hi. I'm looking for a relative or friend of mine that is in the hospital. His name is Tom Adasowitz of Chickabee Mass. If you know Tom, could you give me a call? If not, I'm sorry to bother you. I'm his daughter, can I call you? That's all it took was one Facebook message to bring back all I thought I'd forgotten. And in that moment I knew nothing would ever be the same again. I hadn't seen my father in thirteen years and with good reason. My last memory involved him parking in front of my condo and taking pictures of my son from his car. Totally normal behavior for my dad. That same urge I felt to protect my son in that moment was the same feeling I felt when I received that message. Yet something in me told me I had to be present for this. I had to attend to this moment. I couldn't hide, I couldn't run, I had to face this whether I was ready to or not. The memories of my dad most days inspire sadness, a longing really, for a life I really didn't know. Growing up I got glimpses of the man who was my father. But I never really got let into his heart and soul, but I did get welcomed right into his unhealed wounds. We all did. We were collateral damage. Growing up you don't realize that your parents really are just doing the best they can with what they have. It's not a child's job, but I wish at my young age, my father's most rageful moments, I had known that. The little girl in me will always cry for the daddy she never knew, but the big girl in me knows that I must stand tall, do my soul's work, and tell this tale, the tale of my family torn. As I listened on the other end of the line, I knew my dad's journey on this earth was coming to an end. It wasn't anything his friend said, it was a gut feeling, telling me to buckle up for this ride. I'd love to tell you that my dad and I had a heart to heart before he passed, but that wasn't the case, not really. I told his friend we'll call him Bob, that I'd be willing to see my dad, but my dad's response to seeing me was not now, maybe later. Later came but not the way I wanted it. But I guess it's not how we want things to be, but how they are supposed to be. I'm not God, I don't proclaim to have the secrets of the universe, but I do believe everything happens for a reason, even if we don't know or understand the reasons. Not everything is ours to know in this lifetime. My dad ultimately, I believe he entered the nursing home knowing he wasn't leaving, consciously or unconsciously, he knew. His soul knew, which is probably why he panicked, but not out of fear of death, but of dying sober. My dad was an active alcoholic who clung to religion as his anchor would often twist that religion to justify abuse and neglect. He was placed in the nursing home initially to strengthen his legs because he kept falling, but once there he was deemed he had dementia. I believe the accurate diagnosis was wet brain, but either way he wasn't fit to live on his own. When the reality set in that he wasn't leaving, he tried to bribe his friend Bob to get him out of there so he could drink by promising to leave him all his assets. When that didn't work, my father lashed out and had some sort of episode at the nursing home. How it all played out, I'm not clear. But the end result was my father falling into a coma, a coma he would never wake up from. For the next couple of weeks that my father was in the nursing home, I played out the scenario of going to see him in my head a hundred times. Ultimately, what stopped me was the fact that I didn't want to do more harm than good. I had not seen my father in so long that without a definite yes from him, I wasn't going to chance causing him emotional harm or myself emotional harm. It's a decision that I will probably always go back and forth with for the remainder of my days, but in the moment with everything happening so fast, I did what I thought was best. It didn't stop me from calling the nursing home to check on him, but as far as going to actually see him, I couldn't. If he had survived longer, I can't say I wouldn't have eventually gone to see him, but again, I don't believe it was meant to be. After my father had his episode by a seizure, which I believe was brought on by his body and brain, unable to adjust to life without alcohol, he was brought to St. Francis Hospital, Connecticut. His sister had arrived from Florida, and after there was no improvement in my father's condition after a week, it was decided life support would be discontinued. I made the decision to go see my father in the ICU at St. Francis with my mother, but nothing really quite prepared me for the experience of the hello goodbye moment I had with my father. I'll never forget waking up that morning, knowing this was going to be the last time I saw my father alive. I was full of anxiety and I don't want to say excitement, but it was my dad and I wanted to see him. I jumped on a Zoom call with a friend to do a meditation to help prepare me for what I was about to do that day. But the truth is nothing could really prepare me. Walking down the hallway of St. Francis ICU, I felt as though I was going to about pass out. And the second I approached room four, I saw my father and I began to cry. It took me several minutes to get in the room. I simply couldn't believe what I was seeing, as my brain was having a hard time registering that this was my father. The once mountain of a man whose mere presence struck fear into me, a voice that shook me even when I thought I heard it. A man who at times resembled more of a monster lay dependent on machines to keep him alive. All the hate, anger, resentment, and outright rage I felt towards my father all these years fell when I entered his room. I stood what felt like hours simply taking it all in, taking this moment in because this wasn't just a regular moment, it was a life changing, and for him a life ending moment. My father had a cap on with wires attached monitoring attached to monitoring his brain, which was constantly seizing, his wrists gently tied to the bed to prevent involuntary movements from removing any life saving tubes, his mouth moving as if to try to speak, toenails unclipped, malnourished, bloated, teeth missing, a tube and liquid nutrients were keeping him here, so to speak, and to round everything out, a Bible along with prayer beads, bedside. I always knew this day would come, but I never thought it would arrive like us like the spiritual two by four it was. It was bringing up echoes and wounds of a past life that needed to be healed for both of us. After the initial shock of seeing my father in this condition and wrapping my head around what it meant for both of us, I took a seat by his bed. I truly couldn't believe that our relationship came down to this moment that this is how it ends. My heart was broken, and the little girl inside of me desperately didn't want this moment to be true. I eventually got my bearings about me, understood the assignment placed before me, and leaned right into it. It's so easy in these moments, these hard moments to look away, to numb, to distract from the pain, from the lesson, but I couldn't and wouldn't do that at this time, not this moment. I took my phone out, opened up my music app, and played Leanne Rhyme's version of Amazing Grace, because I knew my dad wasn't getting a church mass, which I didn't agree with. But I had no vote, so I played him a gospel song that felt right. I began to cry as I watched him respond to the music. Small hand motions turned into big hand motions, and his mouth began to move. As Amazing Grace finished, I looked up a version of Ave Maria by Andre Rio and Marussia, that is perhaps one of the most beautiful versions ever made. It brings tears to my eyes every time I hear it. As that song played, I cried, not sobbing or weeping, but crying. Crying for the relationship we had and the relationship we didn't have, and I cried for the life of the man I knew as my father that I just didn't understand. I knew I couldn't stay there forever. I knew the inevitable was going to happen. I knew there no were there were no doovers, and the time for blame had fallen away. I was angry inside. I was hurt. I felt hollowed out, but mostly I felt like I wanted my dad to wake up. I wanted his brain to stop seizing, I wanted him to regain consciousness, to wake up, to do better. I wanted a chance to be a daughter to my father, so that maybe, just maybe, we could both heal a little. Neither of us would get that chance to heal, or ever really know each other. Not in this lifetime or plane of existence anyway. And that's a deep ache that may never go away. As I sat there with my father, part of me didn't want to leave, but he was already gone to me in so many ways. I finished up what I felt in my heart I had to say to my dad, but I couldn't say I love you, I just couldn't. The truth is I'm not sure I'll ever be able to say those three powerful words to my dad. In the coming chapters you'll learn why. I moved aside and let my mother say what she needed to say. And to this day I believe she hauled a lot back because I was there. I wish she hadn't. I wanted her to get it all out, but she said she would never forgive him, and maybe that is all she needed to say. She only really went to see him because of me, and for that I'm grateful, because truthfully it was a moment that enabled me not only to examine the shackles Thomas Daswoods placed on me, but to remove them. As we wrapped up this moment, I remember looking at my father one last time, wondering where the hell it all went wrong, or when was it ever right? So many unanswered questions, so much pain. I felt gutted, hollowed out like the inside of a dead tree. My insides were eaten away by the endless torture of generational trauma which manifested as never really being seen or being enough to my father. As I looked at my father, I have to say that this is not how I saw his life ending. As a child he was a giant to me, a looming figure, and over the years in my mind he never aged. The things our minds do to protect us. In that hospital room with my father, I found it to be bittersweet that he was in a coma, and his ability to speak had been taken from him. He was forced to listen, and I knew he heard us, and I know he didn't like some of the things we said. At one point, when my mother mentioned my stepfather, my father began to choke on his own saliva and a nurse had to come in and suction him. We both paused at each and looked at each other knowing he didn't want to hear the truth because it wasn't pretty, and the truth didn't match my father's lies. We decided to leave a couple minutes after the nurse left because his vitals were showing his agitation, and we didn't want to cause harm. That's not why we came. I remember looking down at my father's feet before we left, and I took notice of how long and yellow his toenails were. I felt sad. I almost asked the nurses for clippers, but then I thought, what's the point? If I am being honest, I was also scared you'd wake up. The fear of him was still very real. As I write this though, I have to admit, I do regret not taking a moment to do that, for it would have given him a little bit of dignity back in a moment where he had lost so much of it. It could have also been a moment between us as father and daughter, a moment that could have facilitated some healing. But it was all just so much at that moment, I simply was just trying to get through it. I stand firm in my belief that there were angels, guides, God in that hospital room with us that day, for there was a peace, a calm, a surrender I cannot quite describe. By myself I would never have been able to remain calm or say what I needed to say, but for the grace of a power greater than myself, I was. I do not remember much about the ride home other than I just wanted to turn around and be with my father. The little girl in me desperately hoped and prayed deep within her broken little heart that her dad would wake up and we would get a second chance at making this mess even a little bit right. When I got home, I didn't really know what to do with myself. I don't really remember what I did, but I'm pretty sure I did have a drink or two. I felt numb. I felt angry, I felt sad, I felt lost. And even though my dad's life on this earth was ending, he was far from gone and we were far from over. The decision had been made that my father would be removed from life support on march eighth, two thousand four, twenty twenty-four. He had been on life support for nearly two weeks with no signs of improvement. It was the most humane and compassionate thing that could be done. He wasn't coming out of this. He was straddling two worlds, and though this isn't the ending I would have wanted for him, it's the ending that he got. The following day, March seventh, was a rough day. I went back and forth with going to see my father to honestly just feel close to him and talk to him again, telling him all that he missed over the years, and just saving myself the heartache and just letting it be. In the end, I decided to not go. It was just too much. I was empty and my nerves were shot. Looking back, part of me does wish I did go see my father without my mom, and it could have been an us moment. But in that moment, moments like that, we simply do our best, the best we can, and that's what I did. The best I could. I received a call around 7 PM on March 7th from my dad's healthcare proxy, telling me they would be disconnecting my dad from life support the following day, March 8th around 7 AM. I felt so bad for Bob. He did not ask to be the healthcare proxy. Neither did my dad ask him. He just went and put his name down. And poor Bob was thrust into an unfair situation he didn't ask for or want. To this day I still feel a deep sadness for Bob. He worked with my dad for years, and though he knew him as difficult, combative, and deeply religious to the point of pushy. He never knew the true depth of who my father was. I should also ask I should also add, Bob asked me to take over being the healthcare proxy at one point, but I said no simply because I really didn't think my father would want that, and I didn't want to force myself into his life, especially at the end. Sometimes I don't know if I missed the mark on that situation. Should I have taken the opportunity to be the healthcare proxy in my dad's final days? I don't know. I go back and forth with that, and I probably will forever. I didn't sleep much that night on march seventh. I was deeply sad and numb. How did we get here? Why did he not want to see me before he died? Maybe by the time I finish this book, I'll be able to answer at least one of those questions, but probably not. My father was a deeply troubled and complex man, as you will soon read, but I was still his daughter and he was still a human being, and to say goodbye this way in these circumstances is still very hard to digest and accept. While I was at the hospital I took a picture of my dad's monitor that showed his brain activity, and left hand corner was a picture of him in his current state. I kept revisiting that as the night went on. Unable to really wrap my mind around what's happening. How the hell did we get here? A question that has echoed in me since that fateful Facebook message. I woke up March 8th, obviously agitated and sad, unsure of what to really expect once they removed from life support. It wasn't as though I had been here before. My heart was heavy with the thought of my dad being alone. When they pulled the plug, even after all he had said and done, I still don't know. I still don't believe he should have died alone. I just don't. I think by the time he had reached the end of his days, he paid a high price for what he had done. His choices landed him here, where he was, and I won't argue that. To me there is something about dying alone. I mean, granted, I don't believe we are truly alone when we die, but dying without even a single living loved one with you. That hits right in the heart space. All that aside, I was made aware that when they disconnect the life support, it can take time for the body to shut down completely. So there was no way of knowing how long it would take. So I opted out. It was such an odd day just waiting for the phone call that would tell me my strange father is gone. So strange. The fact that my father was a deeply religious man, and this was around Easter didn't help. This might sound crazy. A lot of what you will hear does, but I had this fear he would make a comeback, so to speak, a resurrection of sorts, and there was no way I was built for a Tomadassowitz 2.0. The day was literally the strangest day, just waiting for one of the most influential people in my life to pass away. I still look back at that and think about that day, as it's very easy for me to jump right back into those feelings of abandonment by my father. There was no coming back from this type of abandonment. There was no redo, no second chances, do not pass go, do not collect $200. I walked around my apartment just in a complete mental disarray, listening to songs that to me mark this moment, such as Monsters by James Blunt. I dare you not to cry to that song. I remember everything by Five Finger Death Punch or Emotionless by Good Charlotte. I swear sometimes I never stopped being an angsty teenager. I remember getting scared at one point that my dad was going to be stubborn, not pass, and live in some vegetative state which I didn't want for him. Or honestly me. I do remember talking to Bob at some point during the day and him saying, Once he passes, I'm done. My job is done. I understand the frustration overwhelm he was feeling in that moment and through this process. But I was hurt by that comment. My life was in complete upheaval. I was now responsible for taking care of a father who never actually wanted me. Wish I could have said I'm done, but I didn't have that privilege. I got a phone call at 4 24 AM on March 9th, 2024, from a nurse named Kristen to tell me my father had passed. She was extremely kind. I answered the appropriate questions and hung up. And just like that, he was gone. But the circus was only just beginning. I don't remember what I was feeling in that moment, but sitting here and now, I can see my father in the rear view of my mind, laying in the hospital bed, hooked up to wires and tubes of all kinds, and still hurts. I always knew this day would come. I think we all expect to bury our parents. It's just one of the natural order of things. But when they are so many when there are so many holes, so many questions, you can bury the body, but truthfully, they are more than alive. They are more alive than ever. I know that's a pretty heavy place to start. But I think that sets the tone for the next section. You see, when I was sitting in that hospital room with my father, you know, I'm not gonna lie, part of me was was angry. There's a lot of things I wanted to say to him. But seeing him in his fragile state, he didn't win anything. I didn't win anything. There was such a deep ache. I missed him so much in that moment, and honestly, I didn't realize over all the years how much I'd missed him. He missed my son growing up. There's so much I didn't know about him. His service in the Navy during Vietnam. You know, his favorite foods, his favorite color, his favorite TV shows. There's just so many things I didn't know. But mostly I didn't know why things had to be they were the the way they were. I didn't get it. Looking back, I think my father did the best he could with what he had. I don't think he even understood every single thing that made him tick. But it's no excuse for some of the things that happened. It went so awry. So I'm gonna end it here for this week. Maybe take a moment this week and try to write out your story. See what comes up for you. Writing is very therapeutic for me. So is storytelling. I believe we all have a story to tell, and all our stories are valid. We can all learn from each other. I hope in some way that this episode has touched you. In some way. And I look forward to sharing more of my story with you. And if no one tells you today, I love you.