When Death Comes Too Soon

My son started Kindergarten today.  My husband and I were both a little teary-eyed as we said good-bye to him, but he had a big smile and faced the day with excitement. 

After dropping him off at his classroom, we joined other Kindergarten parents at a meeting with the principal where all of our questions were asked and answered.  We all shared our nerves, sadness, and excitement (for some), but the principal shared the most important news of the day.   She welcomed us to the school "family", a family that had lost one of its own the previous day.  A parent of three boys at the school died suddenly yesterday.  He was only 44 years old. 

As the story unfolded, I felt such tremendous sadness for this family that I did not know at all.  The wife who was suddenly a widow.  The three boys ages 7, 9, and 11 who said good-bye to their dad yesterday morning when he dropped them off, and who was dead before school ended that same day.  I felt sadness for the eight siblings scattered across the country who were answering their phones to receive the unexpected news about their brother.  I felt sad that I had been crying just moments before because I wouldn't see my little boy for a few hours when this family would never see their husband/father/brother on this Earth again.  Ever.  My first-day-of-school nerves gave way to tremendous sadness that caught me off guard, and took away my breath.  

When I lost my Dad suddenly four years ago, I was not at all prepared for the phone call that came announcing his death.  I remember exactly where I was in my house.  I remember the time.  I remember feeling like I had been punched in the stomach.  Like the air was all sucked out of the room and I couldn't breathe.  I remember calling a friend to come stay with my son because my husband was out of town at the time.  I remember collapsing in her arms, unable to stand as I cried onto her shoulder.  I remember it all like it happened yesterday.  And every time I hear about the unexpected death of someone who has died much too early, has left his or her family at such a young age, I remember with such clarity the day that my Dad died.  And I relive it, over and over.  I have several days of limited sleep, lots of crying, and prayers sent up to grant me long life so that my children will not be left to grow without me.  Even 62, the age of my Dad when he died, is way too soon for me to leave this world. 

A former student of mine lost her dad in a house fire in May of 2010.  I cried when I was told, cried with her when she told me she missed him, and cried for days as I remembered my own pain at my father's death.  I wrote a Facebook post at that time that captured what I was feeling, but I wanted to write it again somewhere that I could see more frequently.  I want to be able to remind myself that even though my Dad has died, I was lucky to have him.  I was "lucky" that I was nearly 37 when my Dad died.  I got to have much more of him than a child of age 6, 7, 9, or 11.  I need to remind myself of all that he saw and experienced with me, rather than all that he is not present for now. 

It's been 15 months since I wrote this, but it still brings tears to my eyes.  And it is still the way I feel today.  Lucky.


May 10, 2010...

A little girl in my class lost her daddy today. He died in a fire in their apartment, and he was only 35 years old. When I was given the news, I was first grateful that she and her brother spent the night at her grandma's house and were safe, and then I was hit with a deep sadness that she is only 6 years old and has to live without her daddy.

I was lucky enough to have a Daddy for almost 37 years, and I thought that wasn't enough time. How selfish am I? There was so much more that I wanted to share with my Dad. I'm so sad that he doesn't get to see me be a mother, that he doesn't know my kids, and that he misses all the day to day junk of life. But how lucky am I that he got to teach me how to ride a bike and how to swim? That he got to watch me graduate from high school and college? That he got to witness my marriage? That he was there the day I became a mother?  That we took trips together?

If I close my eyes and listen, I can hear my Dad laugh and I can see him smile. I have so many great memories. So how lucky am I? I bet my student thinks I'm pretty lucky. I hope that the rest of her family talks about her dad to her so that she can remember the time she had with him. I hope that someone else in her family has pictures of him, since everything in the apartment was lost, so that she can remember what he looks like. I hope she feels his love for her and that it carries her through the horrible days full of sadness that are ahead of her. I hope that she is able to feel him in her heart and hear his voice and laughter in her ears as she grows. Those are the things I would wish for my babies if something so tragic happened to me.

I know I am lucky to have been blessed with a loving father for 37 years, but on days like today I'm still just a girl who wants a hug from her daddy and misses him very much.