Today is the day.

One year ago today, my world changed forever. I was at work, just like any other normal Wednesday morning, when I got the call. My sister was trying to get me on the phone to let me know that my father was being ushered out of the house on a stretcher at that moment and Mom needed me to meet her at the hospital. Of course, before she could say another word, I was gathering my things and digging for my keys. Hospitals are something we don't play about or use lightly in my family, especially in regards to Daddy. After several major heart attacks requiring 2 triple bypasses, 6 stints and 4 angioplasty, every chest pain was very serious.

I met my mom in the emergency waiting room and walked with her to the admissions desk to fill out paper work. When the nurse asked for a signature regarding what to do if he died, she broke down. I have never seen my mother cry like she did at that moment. I gathered her in my arms and held her until she calmed down a bit. It was heartbreaking to hear.

As she was signing the papers, I turned around to see them wheel Dad from the ambulance unloading area to the operating room. The plan was to insert an emergency pace maker, because there was no more tissue to operate on around his heart and arteries. It was all scar tissue from the trauma of his previous surgeries. This was his only hope.

The nurse walked with us to the operating waiting room and left us with the knowledge that it would take at least an hour before anything was known. On the way up, I ran into Andy's aunt, who was there for her husband, after he had suffered a heart attack as well. He was in the operating room next door to my father. We sat in that big empty room for a while, until Mom couldn't take it anymore. We decided to walk to the convenience store just on the other side of the hospital, so that she could get some more cigarettes (ironic, huh?). On the way back , we took our time and talked about what was going on. Momma made the strange comment that she didn't think he was going to come home this time. Of course, I replied that she shouldn't say things like that cause Daddy can survive anything. He HAD to make it through.

But he didn't. We got back up to the waiting room, only 45 minutes after they had wheeled him up and immediately the receptionist lead us to a different small room. The crosses on the wall hinted where we were and why. Sure enough, 15 agonizing minutes later, the doctor entered followed closely by the hospital chaplain. The doctor quickly and calmly informed us that Daddy hadn't made it through the surgery. I remember the shock and crushing weight that hit my chest, but the rest is only flashes of pictures of the next few hours. My mom pulling me to her tightly, crying, repeating, "Oh, God. I knew it. I had a feeling. I knew it. Oh, God." I couldn't breathe. Then the chaplain had to interrupt our crying to discuss the next step. Where should the body be sent? Would he be buried or cremated? Can he get us anything?

I remember calling my husband first. My hands shook so hard that I couldn't dial the number without help. He was at work and got approval from his boss to leave for the day and meet us at my parent's house. Then, we had to call my sisters. Two of them were already at the house, as they had been waiting for word of Daddy. The other was out of reach until much later that night. Somehow, Mom was able to drive us home, though we had to stop more than once to sob and hug. I almost passed out walking from the hospital door to the parking lot. When we got home, Mom and I just stood holding onto each other, until we could finally gather ourselves and walk into the garage. Andy just took the place of Mom beside me, close and comforting. We all sat in the open garage and looked at each other, lost for words. The only sound an occassional sob that couldn't be held back.

I had to call my boss and let him know that I wasn't coming back for a few days. Then, it was time to call my Dad's business partner and old friend. I don't know what was said or how understandable it was, but he knew. After that, it took some time before I could tell anyone else, because it was just too painful to say the words out loud.

My mom finally went inside the house and the bedroom they had shared. The wrappers from the medical equipment were still littering the floor where the EMT's had hastily thrown them. His shoes still lay beside the bed, waiting to be put on. The pillow just fluffing back out from the indention his head had created during the night. You could even smell his scent still lingering in the air. It was too much to bear. My sisters and I ran through the house, hiding everything of his- his hairbrush, jeans, wallet, pictures, belt. Everything. Still, it was almost impossible to walk through the place.

Eventually, we were able to calm down and start to breath again. But, we couldn't leave each other's sides for the following days. We slept on the couches and floor, going to our respective homes only to get clothes and personal things we would need soon.

The funeral was a few days later. I barely recall any of it, except how everyone was so wonderful and supportive. All of my friends, including some I hadn't seen in years, came and showed their love for Daddy and our family. It was a bittersweet reunion of old neighbors, relatives and family friends. I don't even know if I told them how touched I was to see them all there. How, without all of them, I couldn't have survived those next few weeks and months. How grateful I am that they let me talk about him and just listened when I needed it most.

So, today, September 28, 2006, I would like to honor his memory and the wonderful people who were and still are so very important to me. Thank you. I love you.

Rest in peace, Daddy. It's never "Goodbye", only a "See you later." I love you and miss you.