Life is kind of funny. Sometimes it can be "Ha Ha" funny. Sometimes it can be "peculiar" funny. Sometimes it can be "strange" funny. But no matter, it rarely ends up the way you want or expect.
I went to work early, again, on Monday, February 27, ready to get a head start on what was to be a very busy week. Around 6 or 6:30 a.m., I was barely even settled, I got a call on my cell phone. I saw that it was Mom. It was a bit strange for her to be calling me so early, but I had no bad thoughts. I mean, they never occurred to me. But I answered the phone, heard Mom crying and then heard the words I had feared for so long... "Dad died."
At this point, two years later, I don't really remember what my first thoughts were. I'm sure that evening if you had asked me what my thoughts had been when she said that I wouldn't have been able to answer you. All I know is that it seemed the tears couldn't come fast enough.
I think she might have tried to tell me how things progressed to that point, or maybe I heard all of that later, but we did talk for a few minutes. Of course I told her I would be home as soon as I could, I asked her if she had talked to my sister (I don't remember what she told me, but probably instinctively knew she and her family would be close behind me).
The first call I made was to my great friend Amy. She lives in North Carolina. I've known her since 1988. She is my best friend and then was only second to my Dad. So, naturally, she was the first to know. And in true best friend fashion fell over herself apologizing for not being able to be there for me. But, of course, I understand. I don't ever expect people to go out of their way for me. I never feel like I deserve it.
The next two calls were to a couple of people I was working with at the time, who were friends then. I called my boss after that. I don't remember when I called my next best friend Donna. I'd like to believe I called her then, but I don't know. If I didn't, I certainly should have.
I didn't take much time to organize my stuff at work before going back to my apartment. By the time I was there, the first round of tears were through. I began packing. Then I thought of something else. I called my friend Patrick, who lived a floor below me in my building. I was glad I caught him before he left for work. I gave him a key to my apartment and asked him if he would mind looking after the place while I was gone, which I didn't know how long would be. In true friend fashion, he did. I've forgotten what all was said, but I have no doubt our friendship was strengthened that day. At least in my eyes it did.
Finally I was off.
I had to drive 200 miles. The worst trip I've ever taken. And weird. For miles I'd be crying, for miles I wouldn't. And no matter, I kept thinking about the things I should have or should not have done. Should I have gone home that weekend? Should I have stayed another week? Should I have not fussed at him a little that day I was grumpy, fussed at him for no reason? Should I have done something to have prevented this from happening?
Who knows? I mean, it didn't matter because none of that would have changed the fact that he was gone. And I still have those thoughts. I feel stupid when I do, but I do. It certainly won't change it now.
Finally, I got home. A close friend of my Mom's was there and most of my Dad's brothers and sisters were there, some of whom were cleaning the house. I didn't understand that because they should be mourning, too, and who gives a shit if the house is clean. But when my Mom saw me we grabbed each other and the tears flowed again. After what seemed like hours, we let each other go and said things I don't remember. Family members were trying to make small talk. It's just one of those awful times when there is absolutely nothing to say, yet most people feel the need to say something. I can't fault them for that, I've been the same way before. Most of the time it's just enough for them to be there. It's the comfort of knowing you aren't alone.
Eventually, my sister, her husband and my nephew showed up. And there it was again. The tears.
The rest of that day is a blur. I don't remember when most of the family left. I don't remember what all we talked about. I don't remember what all I said or what was said to me. I don't even remember if I ate anything.
What I do remember is that after nearly 35 years of life I couldn't think of anything worse happening.
And at some point, I cried myself to sleep.
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