January 10

My father died six years ago today. I was at work. It was just after lunch. My mother called and said he’d been taken in the helicopter and she didn’t know anything more. As I was leaving I bumped into Neeley who was working over the holidays between semesters. She was just a kid at the time but she handled it amazingly well when I held onto her for a moment then blurted out that I thought my dad was dead and I had to go.

The road was blocked by fire police due to the helicopter. I almost ran over the first one when he wouldn’t let me through. As you can imagine I wasn’t making much sense as I tried to explain why he had to let me pass. The second one didn’t even try to stop me.

When I got to the hill at the bottom of the road where my parents lived, about a block from their house, I saw his car crashed into the stone wall across the street. There was an ambulance, fire trucks and state police. The poor cop who caught me after I hopped out of my car was about twelve years old.

I remember clutching his coat in my fists, shaking him, demanding he tell me what was going on. I suspect I’m damn lucky he didn’t shoot me. Or throw me on the ground and handcuff me for acting like a crazy woman. Especially when I started rambling about the dog.

My dad rarely went on errands without his pup. I don’t know why she wasn’t with him that day. She loved to go along. A fireman approached at some point and confirmed the cop’s claim that the dog hadn’t been with him. A neighbor had already asked the same thing so they were certain.

Then I asked him to tell me about my dad. The look I got said it all but he called the ambulance woman over anyway. They offered to come with me to tell my mom. I refused. There was no way I was telling her he was already gone even before they took him away in the helicopter. Not after being the one to tell her of her mother’s passing and another difficult loss in our family.

Why is it always me who has to do that? If there’s someone in your life about to die, please don’t make me be the one to have to tell you. I’ve done it too often and I can’t do it again. That night I did have to call my great aunt and tell her though. After I called one of her friends and explained what was going on so she wouldn’t be alone.

I drove my mom twenty minutes to pick up my brother and then the three of us went to the hospital another half an hour away where they’d flown my dad. All the while I knew it was pointless. He was dead but I had to pretend I didn’t know that.

By the time we got there I had myself so shut down and distanced I couldn’t even cry. But now I can.