Time doesn't make you forget, but it does heal... a little anyways

I remember March 3, 1994 like it was yesterday. I was a Thursday. I remember sitting in the band room that morning and telling everyone who walked through the door that Monday was my birthday. I don't know why - I just was. My dad was in Florida with my grandma and was missing my birthday that year, so I guess I was compensating somehow by making sure no one else missed it.

Towards the end of band my friend Jamie came in and handed our director a little call slip asking for my IMMEDIATE presence in the counselor's office. "OOOOHHHH" everyone chanted at once. It was strange for me to get a call slip - especially an "immediate" call slip. I wasn't worried, but was curious. I tried to talk to Jamie on the way down to the office, but she was acting really weird. I asked her if she was ok, and she just responded that she was upset, but didn't want to talk about it. Strange, but ok. I'll respect that.

As I got to Mrs. Farmer's office, I saw my mom and my oldest brother standing there. WTF? What did I do that was so bad that I needed a family intervention? My mom grabbed me and hugged me and I heard say "The dog died." "What? Pepsi?" I was upset about it, but wasn't sure why they wer both here at school to tell me this news. "NO, not the dog. Daddy."
I couldn't register it, and didn't want to be registering it in my current surroundings. "I want to get my things and leave now."

I didn't cry in Mrs. Farmer's office when my mom had told me that my dad had died. I didn't want to cry there, I wanted to go home and find that none of this was happening. We went back to the band room and I was packing up my instrument when Tim, who strangley enough ended up marrying Jamie - the girl who brought me the call slip- asked me what was wrong and why I was leaving. "Nothing." I couldn't move fast enough to get out of there. He just kept at it though. "No, Something's wrong. Are you OK?" It was at that point in time - in the middle of the band room with all of my friends listening to the trombone section play the second ending of something or other that I lost it. I had to say the words out loud - and by saying them, it made them real. "My dad died." "My dad is dead."

One way doesn't sound better than the other. At 16 (17 on Monday!) it's not a natural sentence to form. I felt like I was in a fog. I just wanted to get my stuff and get the hell out of there. I didn't want to announce to all of my friends in band that my dad was dead. I hadn't had time enough to absorb it myself yet. Nonetheless Tim just couldn't stop pushing the issue, and there I was crying in the middle of band practice with Tim hugging me. Then the bell rang. I think the bell just made it worse. Now everyone was free to find out what was going on with the crying girl. It was awful. I just let go of Tim and ran for my best friend on the other side of the room. She had to ask me to repeat it when I told her what had happened. "My dad had a heart attack and died." She cried and gave me a hug. I remember when I went to release from her a pull back that my glasses caught in her hair and hit the floor. I felt stupid picking them up. It's strange that my glasses falling off bothered me so much, but I was already embarrassed that I was crying infront of everyone and I didn't want anything else to be embarrassed about.

In my mind, I just wanted to quietly get my things and go before I had to speak to anyone. I wish it could have just played out that way. I was so glad to go home. We sat around for minute staring at each other before my mom spoke again. "We need to call your brother and sister and tell them." My mom wanted to be the one to tell them, but she just couldn't stop crying and they couldn't understand what she was saying. She had to keep repeating it over again for each phone call. I just wanted her to stop saying it. I was cursing the words under my breath.

I was really cursing myself. I spoke to my dad the night before he died over the phone. He and my Grandma had arrived in Florida on vacation the day before. They were settled in and planning the rest of their week. I just teased him and gave him a hard time about being gone for my birthday. I told him that he just didn't love me enough, I guess. It was all in fun, but I wish I hadn't done it now. That was the last time I ever spoke to my dad, and I was acting like a brat.
As you do in these situations, you try to come up with a reason this happened. I decided it was my fault. I wanted him home so bad for my birthday that God brought him home to me to prove a point. It took me years to knock down this theory, but the thought of it still lingers in the back on my mind sometimes.

Dad was in Florida when he died. Mom flew down there to make the arrangements to bring him home. Sunday afternoon was all went to the funeral home together. Not for the funeral, but to say goodbye in private. We never had the chance to say goodbye, and didn't want to be thrown into a room full of people to see my dad laying a casket for the first time. My mom went in first. Then my brother and his wife. My sister and her husband went in next. It was getting to be my turn and I wasn't sure I could go in there alone, but I would be brave. My oldest brother then announces that he doesn't want to go in. "You'll be sorry if you don't. Let's go in together."

I can't explain the way the room felt. It was death - it was heavy air - it was dark. My dad was laying there in his suit in front of us. I didn't know what to do. It hadn't occurred to be before this moment, but I started to tell my brother how he would never see me graduate, or get married, or see my kids or meet my husband. My brother just shook his head and said "nope." It was at that point that I felt brave. I touched his hand. There was nothing there. That was not my dad infront of me - that was an empty body. It was empty - that's the only word that I can use to describe it. I sometimes wish I hadn't touched him. It was the scariest thing I had ever done. It's a feeling I will never forget - that emptiness. That cold, emptiness was not my father. It was at that moment that I knew my father was somewhere else entirely.

The following day was Monday. It was that day I couldn't wait for just a few short days ago. Now it was a day I wish had never happened. We were all getting dressed for the calling hours. It was very strange when people would come up to me and say Happy Birthday. I didn't know what to say in response. I knew they meant well, but didn't know what to say.

My dad's best friend was Dennis Smith. He was a character. A lot of people thought of him as a pest, but my dad just accepted him for who he was. We called him Smitty. Smitty loved my dad, and thought the world of my dad and respected him so much. They were truly best friends. I've never seen a grown man look so lost as I did on that day watching Smitty stare at my dad.

Halfway through the calling hours, Smitty took me aside to the coat room and handed me a birthday gift. I felt strange opening it at the time, but looking back now it was the single most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. He left my dad's calling hours, walked across the street in the snow to the Hallmark store and got that for me to make sure I wasn't forgotten. He wanted to make sure I knew how much I was loved, and that my dad would never want me to miss my birthday. I only wish I were able to properly thank Smitty for this life-changing act of kindness. Sadly, he died almost two years after dad. That gift sits in my dining room cabinet today. I will never pack it up, and keep it displayed always. It reminds me that even the smallest act of kindness can change someone's life forever. It reminds me that I was loved, and that my dad was loved. It reminds me of not only of the darkest times, but of the silver linings - even when we don't catch a glimpse of them until we see them reflecting at us in the rear view mirror.

I miss my dad terribly. The hurt never really goes away, but time does make it a little more bearable. I miss Smitty, and only hope that he can hear my thoughts of him from wherever he is. I know that he is happy though. He's with my dad, and my dad had a way of making everyone happy.

I didn't sit down to specifically write this blog. It just sort of happened. Thank you for allowing me to share this memory with you though. Sometimes it still helps to say it out loud - even 14 years later.