Warning– This was and always will be one of the most difficult things I’ve had to write. This is a very heavy post and if you don’t want to read it – please skip and come back tomorrow.
—–
I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to write about this on the blog. This blog is relatively new I wasn’t sure I wanted to start off with such a loaded post. But I promised honesty when I started this blog. I had planned to launch this blog the first weekend in March and had to postpone it till nearly 2 weeks later because I got a phone call Saturday March 3rd that no one ever wants to get – a call that changed my life forever.
My father passed away on March 3rd unexpectedly, due to a heart attack while on vacation in Florida. I received the call from my mother around 8 or so, I could barely understand her. She had to hang up because the doctor was talking to her, the next time I talked to her she said they did everything they could – my dad had died from an apparent heart attack while taking a nap. In those moments, that felt like years, I can’t even remember or comprehend what I was going through. It was like time stopped and I was stranded in this place where everything didn’t make sense anymore. I had no idea what to do, who to call, where to go or how to function in those moments and hours afterwards. I probably resembled a zombie in a sense – mindlessly moving along unsure of my destination and inability to have coherent thoughts.
My cousin was able to get me on a red eye to Florida to be with my mom. My boyfriend Darren didn’t want me to take that trip from San Francisco to Orlando alone so he came with me. I couldn’t ask for a better support system than Darren in those hours. He was there the entire time, and continues to be, in whatever way I need. I showered and threw together a bag (that later proved to hold nothing of great use except one pair of yoga pants) in less than 30 minutes before my friend, Elisabeth, came and took us to SFO. The flights are very blurry for me as I don’t recall much except trying to sleep and make sense of things. I honestly hoped and prayed in that time that this was either a very sick joke or a terrible nightmare I was going to wake up from. Neither of those were the case.
Arriving in Orlando I was terrified. I was terrified to see my mom because I knew landing there and seeing her made this very much a reality – a reality I didn’t want. As soon as I saw her rental car at MCO I can’t explain the emotions that washed over me. This was it, the moment I dreaded the entire flight, the moment all of this became real; the moment I knew my dad was really gone. We got in the car and I couldn’t say anything or think anything. She was on the phone with the medical examiner and had tears in her eyes as she answered question after question. There wasn’t much talking as I recall on the ride to the hotel. We embraced at the hotel and cried – this was real.
The days leading up to the beautiful service we had at my dad’s childhood church officiated by an old friend all kind of blend together. The entire time was either answering questions or waiting to hear back from someone. Friends, family and strangers were so supportive this week with words of encouragement, prayers, kind thoughts and offering anything they could to help during this difficult time. While it was all greatly appreciated, it was also overwhelming. Every time the phone rang or a text came through I knew what it said already. I didn’t need another text or call to remind me of what I was going through. In those days all I wanted to do was forget and hope that it would go away. It didn’t. It was nice to see family and friends come together that I haven’t seen in years but was a sad reminder that he’s really gone and not coming back.
While I find solace in the fact that he didn’t have a prolonged illness, that he got to spend one last day with my mom and we believe he went as peacefully as possible while sleeping it still doesn’t make the pain go away. I’m not sure I’ve still come to terms with the reality of the situation, 12 days later. I know it will take time to come to grips with this new reality, hell who knows if I’ll ever come to terms with it. But I’m trying to remain busy, and take each day as it comes.
Please hug, call, or text those you love and tell them – tomorrow is not promised to anyone. My dad was 47 – far too young. Never take a single day for granted. From the bottom of my heart I send thanks to everyone that called, attended the service, sent a text, sent flowers or reached out in some way. While it was overwhelming it was greatly appreciate and will never be forgotten.
Rest in peace dad, you’ll never be forgotten.
Bites of Balance 