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mourn-ing: the act of sorrowing; the outward sign of grief for a person's death; a period of time during which signs of grief are shown
People say they can remember exactly where they were when significant historical events happened. My mom knows exactly where she was when President Kennedy was assassinated. My dad remembered what he was thinking when he heard the Vietnam War had finally ended. I can see myself sitting in French class watching the Space Shuttle Challenger explode. And I remember
many details of the terrorist events of September 11, 2001.
But I think that all of those memories of world events pale in comparison to the loss of a parent. My mourning began five years ago today, with that late afternoon phone call that told me my father was dead. Although many things are fuzzy from that day and the days to follow, so many more details are clear and vivid. Almost like they just happened today rather than five years ago. I have taken some time today to reflect back on April 14, 2007. To remember who was with me and what I did to make it through my personal hell. I recently read a
book about a man suffering from dementia, and I remember feeling so sad at the prospect of losing my memories. That fear has prompted me to write down my memories of my dad's death. I never want to forget how it unfolded and who helped me survive.
4/14/07, 3:15 pm
My husband's plane had just landed in Boston. He was running the Boston Marathon with a friend that weekend. He had already called and said they were on their way to the hotel and that he would call me later. My 1-year old son was napping in his crib. I took that opportunity to lay down myself, maybe get a short nap in before he woke up. I had been down for only about 15 minutes when my house phone rang. I ignored it. Then my cell rang. Then the house again. Then both phones at the same time. Something was wrong.
It was my brother-in-law, his voice shaky: "Your brother just called. Your dad was mowing and collapsed in the backyard."
"Who was mowing?"
"Your dad. He's dead."
"Wait a minute. Who's dead?"
"Your dad."
I hung up and called my mom. Surely he had misunderstood. Surely it wasn't MY dad. My brother actually answered, crying. "He's dead, I know he's dead." My mom quickly took the phone from him and told me they were taking my dad by ambulance to the hospital. She knew I was home alone with my son, and was worried that I would be too upset to drive. "Mom, is he alive?" She assured me, "They said they got a response when they shocked him."
I quickly hung up and called my friend who also happened to be my son's babysitter. I knew that I could leave my son with them for as long as I needed to and he would be fine. His wife answered, and I spit out "I need help!" I could tell she was already putting on her shoes before I finished talking. She was at my house in five minutes and caught me as I collapsed in her arms. "I'm not ready. I'm not ready for this." She just held me. She lost her father at a young age and knew she could say nothing to comfort me at this time.
I drove to the hospital which was only five minutes away from my house. My brother and my mom were standing outside, a neighbor was with them after driving them to the hospital. I could see my sister running down the street. We all ran inside the emergency room, hoping to somehow find him still alive. Still able to hear us tell him that we love him. Still breathing with a beating heart.
But he was already gone.
We gathered in that little room. It was the last room on the right as we entered the emergency room. He was wearing blue jean shorts, and his hands were muddy and grass stained. He had been doing his favorite activity, yard work, when he had a heart attack. We cried, stunned. We held his hands. My mom sang something.
I called my aunt and uncle and they came immediately. My uncle went to our church up the street to get a priest to give him last rites. I called my husband who was already on his way back to the airport to try getting on a flight back home. My brother-in-law arrived after someone, I don't even know who, got to their house to stay with their kids. He came in tentatively, almost like he was uninvited. He had lost his own father the year before to a heart attack, and I later learned that those memories came rushing back to him. Overwhelmed him.
Other calls were made, and before you knew it we had a full room of family and friends there. Looking back on it, I wonder what the emergency room staff thought of that. They were so kind and patient as we took over that space and the waiting room. Were they talking about us and wishing we would just leave? Take our sadness somewhere else?
But we didn't. Not for a long time.
I'm not sure why exactly, but it was very important to my mom that my dad's sisters see him there, at the hospital, rather than in a funeral home. So we waited for them. I called my cousin and told her to go to her Grandma's house, my dad's oldest sister, to tell her the news and bring her there. I called my other cousin and told her to call her mom, my dad's youngest sister, and ask her to come immediately. She lived an hour away, but it felt like she was there in ten minutes. In the meantime, my mom's siblings and spouses came. And their kids, my cousins, came. I was so shocked every time one of them walked in the door. I couldn't believe they came! Many of them from out of town too. But there they were. They looked shocked, as I imagine we did upon arrival. They cried with us. They made phone calls for us. They brought us food that we didn't eat. And when our friend came from the funeral home to take my Daddy away, they held us as we cried.
grief: a deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement
We left the hospital, unsure what to do next. What do you do when the life you have always known suddenly doesn't exist anymore? I knew that I didn't want my mom to be alone in her house, and I didn't want to be alone in my house. My husband, by this time, had rented a car and had started the long drive back home. There were no flights that night, and an ice storm was moving into the East coast the next morning so they couldn't guarantee that he would get out anyway. So he rented a car and started driving before the storm arrived. I picked up my son from my friend, packed us a bag, and went to my mom's house where I would stay for the next few nights. My sister came there too. The three of us - me, mom, my sister - laid awake in my parents' bed for most of the night. We talked about my dad, about missing him. We cried. The bed smelled like him, and I think that made us all feel safe, like he was still with us.
sup-port: to hold up or serve as a foundation or prop for; to keep from fainting, yielding, or losing courage; to keep something going
So much of the next few days are very fuzzy. They passed by in a blur. I had no awareness of what was going on in the world outside of my grief. I had no idea, for example, that a mass murder took place on the
Virginia Tech campus on April 16th. I would read about that several days later. I do, however, remember some things from those days very clearly. Mostly, I remember the outpouring of support we received from family and friends.
*I remember my three cousins dropping everything in their personal lives - work, children, home - and being with us during those horrible days. They brought us food, and much needed coffee and Diet Coke. They stayed with our children while we made funeral arrangements. They held us when we didn't have the strength to stand.
*I remember my dad's good friend, he would be a pall bearer at the funeral, saying to me, "He was my best friend. And I'm going to miss him." as he dissolved in a pool of tears.
*I remember a grainy phone call early in the morning at my mom's house. It was my cousin, serving in Afghanistan. He had just gotten in from his rounds and read an email from his mom that my dad had died. He called, from halfway around the world in his own personal hell, to say "I love you" to my mom.
*I remember my mom's cousin running down the street, bagels in the bag in her hand, as she rushed to my mom to hug her and hold her.
*I remember another friend of my mom's coming early in the morning, the day after my dad died. She had bags of food in her hand and just started unpacking all this food into my mom's kitchen. She didn't really say anything, she just unpacked and put away food. I wondered what we would do with all of that food! She had lost her mother a few years before and clearly remembered that people would come. And we would need food.
*I remember the moment my husband walked through my mother's door late at night. The relief I felt at seeing him. The tears I could not hold back anymore. The look of exhaustion and sadness on his face.
*I remember my brother went out to finish mowing the yard where my dad had left off. Where his heart quit before the job was done. I couldn't watch, but mom and my sister watched him do it. They all cried.
*I remember going with my family to the funeral home to make arrangements. Choosing a picture to put on the program. Writing his obituary. Looking through a large book of prayers and poems to find the perfect one, a poem about being at peace in a garden, for his program.
*I remember when my husband arrived at the funeral home to help with arrangements. It was his first chance to see my dad since he wasn't with us in the hospital. He was shaken. He asked for time alone in a room with my dad.
*I remember my mom talking us into going to church on Sunday afternoon, after we had just ordered flowers. The priest saying mass was the same one who had given last rites to my dad at the hospital. The gospel was about "Thomas" who came to believe that Jesus had risen. Easter had been the week before. During the homily, the priest started talking about being taken to the hospital the day before. To the family who had just lost their "Thomas" and were grieving. He was talking about us. What were the chances that we would be at THAT mass to hear THAT homily about us? We felt like it was a sign of some kind from dad as we quietly sobbed in the back of the church.
*I remember walking back into my parent's house after making the arrangements. It was full of people, family and friends. I went straight to our former neighbor, a woman who had known me since I was a small child. She held me and I remember saying, "That sucked." What had they all been doing while we were making those arrangements? They were taking care of our kids. They were answering the phone. They were putting away and eating food. They were waiting for us. They were waiting to catch us when we inevitably fell.
*I remember all of us writing letters to my dad to put in the coffin with him. The kids drawing him pictures.
*I remember the friends that were present to show their love for my dad and all of us. The line out the door at the funeral home for his visitation was the proof that we were all loved by many.
*I remember standing up in front of everyone to say a few words. I don't remember all that I said, but I have it written down somewhere in a bag with the sympathy cards I received.
*I remember when the time came for the coffin to be closed. Looking back, I think I probably looked like a hysterical mess! I didn't want to stop touching him. I was already afraid that I would forget his face as soon as I couldn't see him anymore. I made my uncle bring my 1-year old son inside to the coffin so that he could see Grandpa one more time. I didn't want him to forget Grandpa. I remember crying such loud, gut-wrenching sobs as they wheeled the coffin out to the car, and my cousin finally coming forward and grabbing me so tightly and just hanging on until I calmed enough to stand on my own.
*I remember holding my Dad's hat all through his funeral. It smelled like him.
*I remember "Taps" being played at the cemetary.
*I remember staying to watch as they lowered him into the ground. We threw flowers on top of his coffin. We each kept a flower to save.
*I remember not wanting to leave the cemetary. Not wanting to get in the car that would take me away from him for the last time.
friend: one attached to another by affection or esteem
*I remember calling my friend in California, leaving her a voice message about my dad. I knew she loved my dad too, and I just wanted her to know. She called me back later, sobbing, already had a flight booked and would be here the next day. I never expected her to come be with us, but she came. My mom's simple words to her when she arrived at the funeral home, "He loved you so much", gave her a comfort I would not know until much later.
*I remember a friend, who would soon be moving out of the country, changing her plans so that she could be at the visitation and funeral. I hugged her so tightly, like a lifeline, when she walked into the funeral home.
*I remember a friend from high school calling me and just saying, "what can I do?" I didn't know what I was going to wear. What does one wear to bury her father? I gave her several shirts and a skirt and she ironed them all and put them on hangers in my closet so they would be ready when I decided. She also took the remaining pictures and put them on a board and delivered them to the funeral home when my sister and I just couldn't do it anymore. This same friend, who I had known for 25 years, told me I looked green when I entered the church for the funeral. She said it in the way that only a friend of 25 years can say it. With love.
*I remember my teammate at work telling me that she had every thing taken care of, and that I didn't have to go back to work for two weeks. She had lost her mother just the year before and knew I didn't need to think about work at all.
*I remember our friends who made arrangements for their daughter to pick up my son at the funeral home and take him home to bed so that my husband could stay with me until the end.
*I remember two friends, one pregnant and taking care of her own father who would die in August, driving almost two hours to come to the funeral home for a couple hours, and then driving back home.
*I remember a friend of my husband's, who had met my dad several times, giving me the biggest, tightest hug of the night. Like he could somehow protect me from the pain if he held me tight enough.
*I remember old friends of my parents waiting in the long line so they could hug us, share a memory.
mem-o-ry: the time within which past events can be or are remembered
Five years have passed since that day, the day that changed my life forever. Some things have changed. My sister got a divorce and has remarried. I gave birth to a baby girl, who I believe knew her Grandpa before she knew me, and was sent by him to complete my family. My husband and I bought a new house. A house that I declare almost daily could seriously be improved if my dad were still here to help us with the things that need to be repaired.
We have lost other friends and family members who have gone on to join my Dad in Heaven. I have felt a twinge of envy with each death because that person would get to see my Dad while I would have to continue to wait. But, at the same time, I did not wish to trade places with that person because I would so miss the love and life I have here on Earth.
I have watched my Mom adapt to her life without Dad. She keeps busy with friends and her grandchildren. She tells us that, on some days, her grandchildren are her only reason "to be". The only lifeline that keeps her from letting herself drown in her own grief and loneliness. I am thankful that she is so strong, that she is healthy, and that she is HERE. I talk to her every day and cannot imagine what my days would be like if she were not here. I hope that I will be a symbol of strength to my own children as they grow older. That they will believe I can overcome any obstacle life throws at me.
I still miss my Dad so much every day. I still feel grief, sorrow, sadness when I think about him, but I don't cry every day anymore. I talk to him often. I share stories with my children so that they may know him. I see him in photos around my house and in the memories in my mind. And I pray that he knew how much I loved and appreciated my time with him, and how grateful I am that I got to call him "Dad".
I am thankful for all of my memories, the happy and the sad, for they are the foundation of me. Thanks for a great foundation, Dad!
