I had started a post about my Dad on Monday:
Today marks one year. It’s amazing and scary to me that it has already been a year since you died. I miss you so much. Luckily though I can still remember your hugs, and your voice. For now at least. I know those things fade away with time, but for now it’s amazing to still remember them. I remember how amazing you were, how you were my best friend and my Dad. Youu would be so proud and happy for me now. Everything has gone so well, and the only down side is you never got to be here for it. I’m sad you won’t be here to walk me down the aisle, that you never got to meet the man who takes care of me the way you wanted me to be. That I found a love that is the same love you and Mom had for each other. You’d chuckle at the small things you two have in common. My biggest wish is that I could just share this happiness with you. That you could see it, and enjoy it with me.
The 6th marked one year since my Dad passed away. It had already started as a bad day, little did I know it would only get worse.
My best friend Rachel’s Mom had been in the hospital since last week. I had read over the weekend that she was doing extremely poorly, and I was starting to get worried. Knowing how Rachel can tend to think, I figured out the reason she hadn’t called me over the weekend was that she knew I was up to my eyeballs in grief over the one year anniversary of Dad. So I took it upon myself on Sunday night and Monday morning to leave her a voicemail and text telling her that it didn’t matter what day it was, she had to call me about her Mom.
When I checked my phone around noon on Monday I saw I had a missed call and a voicemail from Rachel. I cursed myself all the way outside for missing it, knowing when my phone is on vibrate I never notice it, and how I should have left the ringer on. I get outside and check the voicemail from around 11 and Rachel is barely understandable. All I could hear on it was they wanted to take her Mom off life support. So I freak out, call her back, and Rachel answers.
And the most dreaded thing I thought I could hear was what I heard. Her Mom had died.
Words you can’t understand, or fathom until you have been in the shoes of someone who’s mother has died.
Losing your grandparents, aunts, uncles hurts. But nothing compares to the pain of losing your parents. Nothing.
The worst part for me, outside of my own grief in knowing her Mom was gone, was knowing her pain. Having the understanding of just how much that hurts, and how much that single loss changes your life.
So I left work, in a flurry of tears and sped like crazy down to Canton to be there for her. I stayed at the hospital with her and her family, saw her Mom one last time, and then stayed with her at her Uncle’s house until 6 when I really had to go home and pass out myself.
The creepiest part to me, as I told her, is that her Mom not only died on the same day as Dad, but around the same time. Her and I have always shared odd things like that. So from now on I think we’re both just going to try to ignore the 6th of July. I don’t think anything good can ever come of it.