dbh swap aus have gotta be one of my fav flavors of this fandom

14.13 - Lebanon & How It Helped Me With The Loss Of My Own Father

I have always felt a special connection to Dean. We share similar personality traits and have some of the same coping mechanisms. One thing I never could relate to with Dean was the loss of his father but, now I can.

When “Lebanon” (S14E13) aired, I was excited to watch it. I was excited to see John and Mary together again, to see Sam and Dean with both of their parents and to get some good ol’ Winchester Family time. What I did not expect was for John to look eerily like my own father, who was dying from cancer at the time.

I had been in deep denial of my father’s declining health and the fact his time on Earth was rapidly coming to a close when “Lebanon” aired on CW. My best friend was practically begging me to drive up and see my dad but I kept refusing simply because I felt like doing that would make it real. It would make my dad’s future meet up with the Grim Reaper real and I wasn’t ready for it.

When I started “Lebanon” on CW’s website (I don’t have cable), I was excited. In minutes I was sobbing uncontrollably and thankful no one was home to see me such a mess. The moment John appeared on screen, I saw my own dad. The sunken cheeks, the gray hair. The eyes. This depiction is not a knock on Jeffrey Dean Morgan, let me make that perfectly clear. Your mind has a way of seeing what it wants, or needs, at times and I believe this was definitely one of those times. I sobbed the hardest at the end of the episode, knowing that soon my own father would be gone and I’d make that last connection with Dean. My best friend happened to come home during the last few minutes of the episode and at first he thought I was just getting way to into the show. He’s never watched Supernatural and only knows what I’ve told him about the show and my special connection to Dean. Through sobs I explained the episode, showed him John and told him how it all reminded me of my dad and what was happening. He understood and again urged me again to go see my dad, to spend time with him before he was gone and it was too late.

On the evening of March 26, 2019, my stepmom texted me letting me know she was calling an ambulance for my dad as he had started declining rapidly. I texted my work, told them I wouldn’t be in the rest of the week and that I was driving up the next day to be with my dad. Thankfully, they all were extremely understanding. The hospital pumped my dad full of fluids, he declined admition to the hospital so they sent him home. The morning of March 27, before I could even start my drive, my dad was admitted to the hospital. Upon arrival, my dad was sleeping. Which was good, he needed that. My stepmom updated me on what I’d missed and we soon found out he needed a blood transfusion for his severe anemia. Ok, no biggie we thought. In what was quite literally a sudden whitlwind, we went from: “he just needs a blood transfusion” to “his kidneys are failing and there is nothing we can do.” At this point my dad was in what I assume was the beginnings of falling into a coma. He was in and out, couldn’t speak and didn’t seem to recognize me.

“Dad. Dad,” I said, resting my hand on his foot to get his attention. “I love you.”

His head was shaking and he was having trouble keeping it up right but he looked me in the eyes and said, “I love you.” That was the last thing my dad said to me.

On March 30, 2019, my dad lost his 3 year battle to cancer. My stepmom, my mom, and myself spent three days by my dad’s side in the hospital. We watched him take his last breath. I had my mom bring his old, green flannel jacket he had given me with her. I had laid it next to him before he passed and carefully picked it up before I did the hardest thing ever: walking out of the room where my dad’s physical vessel laid. I would’ve stayed in that hospital room for ever and ever if it meant I could’ve saved him.

In the months after my dad’s passing, I struggled a lot. I’d see other people with their dad’s and start crying in the middle of the aisle at the grocery store. I was searching for something, anything to make me feel better. One day, I started wondering what had happened to his very first truck. A 1966 Ford F100 that he had kept up until about 17 years prior when he unfortunately could no longer pay for his storage unit and his belongings inside, including that truck, were seized by the storage facility. Figuring it had been sold at a lien auction, I called the storage and asked if they knew who bought it so I could see it, one more time. Hell, I thought maybe if it hadn’t been restored yet, I’d have the chance to buy it back. I gave them a detailed description of the truck and they said they’d get back to me. To my surprise they remembered my dad well and we’re very saddened to hear about his passing. While I waited for them to get back to me, I started scouring the internet for my dad’s truck. One day I got an email from the woman who ran the storage facility. They still had my dad’s truck. I bought it back for a steal and got a piece of dad back that day. One day, I’ll have the money to restore it. I couldn’t help but connect another thing about myself to Dean: I too had a classic vehicle that belonged to my dad.

It took me months but I revisited “Lebanon” one day after my dad’s death. I had tears rolling down my face the whole episode but felt oddly at peace. The episode had somehow begun my preparation when it first aired despite my strong denial and watching it again brought me an odd comfort that nothing else had. Supernatural has always been more than just a show to me. Now, after the loss of my dad and the odd timing of “Lebanon,” I feel an even deeper connection the show and Dean than I did before. Some people think that’s strange and weird but, to each their own. Thanks to Supernatural, the writers, the crew, the creators, the actors, everyone involved in the show, I’m one less person that feels alone in my loss.