Bye Daddy

Wednesday, May 18, 2016, I lost my best friend.  It was a normal Wednesday. I got up, went to lunch and ran errands, and got a call from my Dad's phone at 4:46 PM. I answered just knowing he needed help resetting the internet or the printer. It was my mother. She said the two words I never thought I'd hear.  Daddy's Gone.  I started shaking, getting light headed, and knew she didn't just say that. I think I asked her what she meant by gone. and all she would say was "gone". She told me Jackson was on his way to come get me. I went to my supervisor and told her what had just happened. I told her I probably wouldn't be back for the week.  One of the girls helped me with my stuff and we went downstairs.  Jackson arrived at 5:25 and we headed to my parents' house. I called my mom and she said that they had just taken my dad to the Medical Examiner's office.  

I bawled the whole way there, I was given one instruction when my dad passed away. It was to log into his computer and find the document titled "Last Information". It was to contain all of the information my Dad left to "settle affairs".  I opened it to find information for his storage units.   That was it.   All my dad left was information for his storage units.   That evening brought the dreaded visit to my Nana to tell her her son was gone.  If I thought losing my daddy was hard, I can't imagine the pain of losing a child.  She took it just like I thought she would. She wanted answers we didn't have. She was in shock. We were all in shock.  Thursday brought new hurdles. I had to go to the bank to get into his lock box. When I was 12, he set me up as the only other accessible signer on his lock box. The deal was I would go to the bank, sign, receive a key and retrieve the information in the lock box.  I was informed, after I signed and was told how young my father was and how hard that must be (see also: words not to say to a grieving daughter), that the bank did not keep keys. If I had access to tear apart the bank I would have found it because I know 1,000% that there is a key there for the lock box. We went home and back three times with different sets of keys before we had them drill the box. The box contained nothing. It was empty. I just knew I'd find his will, wishes, something. Nothing. We had a meeting with the funeral home Thursday afternoon during which the funeral director itemized the items, slid the list to my mother and asked if tomorrow was okay for her to pay in full.  Strike 1 for this guy; who has $10,000 laying around to use with less than 24 hours notice?  Anyway, we made it all work, decided what we did and did not need, and that was that. 

Friday was also exhausting, as we had until Noon to bring pictures and a typed obituary to the funeral home.  I got up early to go to Mom's to find pictures. when I couldn't find the bucket with the books in them, I decided they had to be at the storage unit. So I grabbed the keys I was told would go to the units.  I went to the climate controlled unit and was unsuccessful at getting in any of the units. I called the office to make sure I had the right unit number, and I asked about cutting the lock. I was sobbing as the girl told me she couldn't do it without a death certificate.  She politely reminded me rent was due on the first and she wouldn't kick us out if we continued to pay for it. I sat in the floor and cried. and cried. and cried some more.  I banged my head against the door (because of course that would open it.) I couldn't worry about pictures anymore.  We had to be at the funeral home at noon. We found enough pictures to suffice. We had to decide if we wanted a plot or to use the brand new urn garden. What urn we wanted. What flowers, what engravings, what we want for my Nana and mother down the road. Y'all, these decisions each left their own knot in my throat.  After all, Dad's visitation was Saturday at 2:30. We had no time to waste. We informed John that Dad's favorite verse was Psalm 121, and he agreed to put that in the pamphlet. It did not make it in the pamphlet; strike 2. We gave him pictures and promised to e-mail the rest.  My sister e-mailed them at 3:00. At 6:19, John called to let us know nothing had come through and he was trying to go home. I tried to forward the e-mail, and it came back as undeliverable because the file was too large. So I e-mailed him and told him I would have to send them all separately. He made us feel like the biggest inconvenience. Strike 3. I wish I could say it got better.  Saturday, I laid in bed and cried a lot. Barry Manilow, Frankie Valli, and lots of others threw our own little cry fest in my bed.  It made me feel no better. We went to get my mom, went to get my Nana, and on the way my Nana called to tell me I should have known better than to try to go Nolensville Road on a Saturday. That made me angry and I snapped at her and asked just what she wanted me to do about it? I was on my way and that was all I could do.  We got there and my aunts, uncles, other grandmother, and my boss were all there.  I felt awful. They ushered us into the chapel and people followed. We spent hours hearing co-workers, teachers who had taken my Dad's workshops, his students, friends of his, mine, mom's, and Cameron's talk about how wonderful a man he was. I wish I could say that helped.  Sunday, Mom and I had to go pick up the flowers everyone sent that we didn't have space for Saturday.  We decided to only take the prayer plants for me, mom, Nana, and Cameron and donate everything else.  Jackson went on to church and I met him at his Mom's for lunch.  After that, I went to sit with Lou and her baby, and that helped so much. 

Monday brought anger. I'm angry with Dad, with the dog for making dad walk, with my Nana for needing my dad to run errands with her Wednesday, with myself for not calling him that day like I had, for some reason, felt I should do.  I am most angry with my Mother for not keeping her drinking in check so I can grieve and not have to babysit. I am 24 and without my Daddy... my best friend and confidante.  He was the most inspirational man I've ever met, and I miss him more than I can explain. He was the first to tell me when I was wrong and needed to apologize, even up to the fight I had with Jackson last week.  I need to call my Dad and tell him I lost my dad. and that is an unexplainable pain I would not wish on anyone.  He was the man that loved me first, and the first man I loved. He taught me about love and God and life.  If you're the praying kind, send some up for us. If you believe in energy, vibes, or whatever else, send some of those our way.