March 3, 2019.
The day I felt my world literally screech to a halt. On that day my heart learned what it meant to skip several beats….for several hours.
March 3, 2019 my life was forever changed.
On this day my breath was taken away. So much discomfort and difficulty using the involuntary functions our bodies go through to keep us alive. These involuntary functions so often taken for granted as being automatic took EXTRA effort for me to use that day.
On March 3, 2019 I got the worst news a daddy’s girl could hear.
MY dear old dad had departed this life.
While my brain STILL struggles to process this news as truth, I remember the first moment my brain attempted to receive this information for fact. If my heart were a sheet of paper, it felt as if someone had taken it and ripped it in half! With each breath, each moment immediately thereafter that sheet of paper was torn again, again, and AGAIN until what was left of my heart became a mound of shedded paper bits on the floor.
March 3rd, you left me behind as your spirit moved out of your human house and into the beyond. I often wonder where you are now.
Can you hear me?
Do you feel me?
Can you see me weeping late at night into the wee hours of the morning?
I mourn your passing in the darkness of the early hours while most everyone else is sleeping. This is the only time where my mind excuses my being alone as normal and not abandonment because I know the average person is asleep and unable to “be there” at 3am. These hours feel safe to me. I can think about you, talk about you, call out to you and express myself endlessly without feeling like a burden.
As the clock ticked from 11:59pm into the first moments of a new day, I tossed and turned, unaware of my surroundings and unable to sleep because my spirit felt uneasy.
On March 2, 2019 I was abruptly woken up from a late afternoon nap. This is my usual routine on weekends so that I can prepare for the long night of designated driving ahead. But this day was different. Mom and Montez were rushing up to Jacksonville to see you because the outlook wasn’t favorable. Even still my mind refused to believe that you wouldn’t come home after “all this madness was over”. Unable to think of anything else but you, I neglected to go to work and spent the rest of the evening avoiding being at home. I crashed on a friend’s couch but then got up around 3am to go back to my apartment.
On March 3, 2019 at approximately 4:30am my phone began to chime with frantic iMessages from the family group chat. Montez was called back to the ICU around midnight and after fully grasping the critical nature of your health began to panic and share with us her concerns of you not making it. Once she admitted that she was crying, the floodgates fell open. My own tears began to flow because though I refused to WANT to accept it, the truth was grimly awaiting to rear its head upon sunrise.
After numerous phone calls and FaceTimes back and forth I watched your condition decline from afar. I sat on my bed feeling tied down and helpless to do anything to save you. There I was, in my room alone, while you were in a hospital room four states away.
On the morning of March 3, 2019 your grandson came rushing into my bedroom after hearing me shout NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NOOOOO!!! I had awakened him.
With my face covered in tears, I had the responsibility of informing Daniel that his grandfather was on his deathbed and if he had any final remarks that now would be the time to express them. He took hold of my iPhone and joined the video call to see for himself the truth of your condition and share with you how he felt.
On March 3, 2019 I learned just how strong your grandson is. He reminded me so much of you that day.
After pacing the floor for 30 minutes or more, I decided that I would take the 9 hour drive and be there by your bedside. I called Montez back to let her know of my decision.
The look on everyone’s faces told me the news before I could fix my mouth to ask.
Somewhere in between phone calls your body gave up. The physical fight was over.
It was done.
On March 3, 2019 my heart broke in a way like never before.
My dear old dad was gone.
Today is March 25, 2019 and I still don’t feel anywhere near okay.
Truth is, I may never be “that version” of okay ever again.
Before now “ok” included a world with you and I in it.
In the past, I felt “ok” after one of our many therapeutic talks.
Prior to March 3rd, “ok” felt a lot better than my version of “ok” today.
On March 3, 2019 you, dear old dad, taught me the last major life lesson you’d ever get to teach me on this side together.
Through your passing, I learned a lot. I am still learning. You are gone now but are still teaching me. For that I give thanks and find a glimmer of peace.
Dear old dad.
I miss you.
dannie'sWorld 