My Dad Died Suddenly
March 5, 2005
Philadelphia, PA
It is 6:30 AM, on a Saturday and the phone is ringing. I wait to hear who it is. If it’s not important, I am not picking up on
a day when I should be sleeping in after a long week of work.
It’s Sharon, my sister. She coughs first and I recognize
that tone immediately. I pick up right away, “Why are you calling me so damn
early,” I want to know but I sort of know it’s not good news.
“It’s Dad. He’s at the hospital. It looks bad. I’m going there
now. I’m almost there.
Stay by your phone and I will call you, unless you want to
meet us at the hospital”.
“No”, I tell her sadly, “No, I’ll just wait.”
“Ok, it doesn’t look good. I think this is it.” Her voice
cracks and her heart is broken.
I hang up and try to focus on my emotions but I am racing
with all kinds of thoughts about what is ahead of me today. My dad has that asbestos lung cancer. The
doctors told him he only had a year to live and that was 5 years ago. He is on borrowed time. Then, on Christmas Day, he was coming out of
church and he collapsed with a stroke. That event really beat up his spirit and
judgment. It made him vulnerable. In February, he was in the hospital for three
days for shingles. This man was falling apart right before my eyes. But he was still going in to work every day,
much to our protest.
The phone rings again. I don’t know if it’s five minutes
later or half an hour but it’s Sharon again, “He’s gone. He died peacefully. He
just got up this morning and he collapsed. The doctors don’t think he felt
anything. Jimmy and Patricia are here.
Do you want to come over? The doctors
said we could wait for you before they call the coroner. He looks really peaceful.”
“No, no. I just want to sit here and cry", I tell her, “I
don’t need to see him.”
“We’re meeting later at his house to start planning the
funeral.”
“Ok, I’ll come over then”, I tell her. Maybe we exchange
more words, but I don’t hear any more. I
just hang up and sit in my chair and try to figure out what are these emotions
raging through me. It’s not all sadness.
There is relief. There is comfort in hoping that he will be reunited
with my mother. There is gratitude that I just spent an evening with him on
Tuesday. There is an emptiness. There is a fear of losing my family just a bit
because both of my parents are now gone and it can become so easy for my
siblings and me to slip off into our own lives now. It’s the end of an era for
us. And I immediate feel that hole.
I call people at work and let them know. But then I also call Denise, my cousin. She
loves my dad and I knew she would take this news hard. I tell her and she cries and tells me she has
to hang up right away because she is so upset.
“You must be devastated,” she tells me.
“I’m OK. I’m OK," I tell her and hang up to sort out my
sorrow.
