Nothing can prepare you for that early morning phone call telling you that someone you love is gone forever.
My older brother had the unbearable task of calling me at 5:40 in the morning 4 weeks ago to tell me that our father was gone. I did not know it was possible to feel so much pain. I was inconsolable. What kept running through my mind, and still does, was that he died 9 days before I was heading home to Nova Scotia to see him. 9 days. 9 days. 9 days.
My husband, who has been so amazing and supportive, had us all on a plane and home that night. We said goodbye to my dad two days later. I had a panic attack for the first time in my life that morning. How was I going to be strong for my mom? In the end I wasn't. It was such a shock to see my dad that I didn't handle it well.
My dad was out for a walk, doing what he loved. He didn't suffer. He lived for 17 years after quadruple bipass surgery. He walked me down the isle at my wedding. He met my two boys. All of these things should make me feel luckier than some, including my husband who lost his dad 8 years ago. But it doesn't. All I feel is heartbroken, cheated, angry and lost.
Most of all I feel denial.
It is so much easier to pretend that he is not gone and to imagine he is just out and will be back again soon. I wonder when it will sink in that he is really gone forever? I spend every moment on the verge of tears thinking of the what ifs and wishing it wasn't true. I didn't know that grief could be so physically painful. I took a pregnancy test today because I was worried the nausea was morning sickness. Thankfully I am not pregnant. That would have been too much to bear right now.
My children now have no grandfather. It aches so much to write that. I had so many images in my head of all of things Grampy would teach my boys.
There are so many things I will miss about him: the stories he told over and over and over until I could say them word for word, the silly jokes, the words that Dad made up like wrastle instead of wrestle, the way he said P O P instead of pop, watching him play with my son (his little buddy), going for walks together down Green Bay road, trips to the beach, playing Euchre and 'going blind', the Kiss of Death Tour (long story) we took every summer, going to the store to get me a treat even though I am 35 years old, his laugh.
I worry about my mom so much and wish I could take some of her pain away. I know as awful as I am feeling right now, it is so much harder for her.
I wonder if I will ever be the same, if our family will ever be as happy as we were.
I just want to also say thank you to each of you that have reached out with your kind words and support. It really does help to know that others care.
