27th Anniversary

This post may be a little more depressing than my other ones so if you are looking for a laugh that may not be possible. 

November 2nd, 2011 marks the 27th anniversary of my dad's untimely demise. He was just 37 years old and left behind a wife and two young girls as well as various family members. To date, his father, sister and just recently mother have followed him into heaven. My dad was an amazing father and member of the community. I remember depressingly little about him. Here is the story of his death. 

I was just 8 and my sister 5 when he passed. He died of a heart attack at home on our front porch. We were not home. We were in fact at church preparing for the Alternative Gift Fair and Turkey luncheon which was the next day. I just came from this same event not one hour ago which is probably why I am choosing this as my topic today. 

A little bit about the man, the myth, the legend. He was lovingly given the nickname "Pudge" by his friends. That was the name that everyone called him up until his death. I don't know why. He played basketball and baseball in men's league and co-ed leagues in Sonoma. He was the director of the sports programs at VOM Boys and Girls club. I spent hours and hours at that club, playing sports myself and just hanging out with him. When he died there were about a zillion articles in the paper. We cut every one out and there are in the death album we have that we used to look at every year. We as a family spents countless hours at the ball field out at SDC watching either mom or dad or both play. I have amazing memories of that time and cherish every one of them. He loved sports and I used to sit on his lap and watch "the game" with him often. 

me and dad watching the game together

mom and dad at their wedding

The night he died he and I were at VOMBGC. I remember throwing the mother of all fits because I wanted to go with him to his basketball game, and not go to church. I remember throwing the fit, but do not remember why I was so upset. Premonition maybe? Who knows, all I know is that God was looking out for me that night. If I had been alone with him when he died I don't know how I would have handled that. That night he was playing basketball with his best friend, Uncle Tim. They were playing in the men's league game and he started to not feel well. He decided to leave the game and go home. He made it as far as the front porch, had the heart attack and died instantly, key still dangling from the door. He fell into the cactus that always sat there. It was a soft cactus that we could touch. My uncle called several times to check on him and when he didn't answer, came over. He was the one who found him. He called the ambulance, and tried to resuscitate him, but it was too late. Uncle Tim never recovered from that night. He eventually died of a heart attack himself at too young an age. 

The next thing I remember is waking up in my room at the house on Sunnyside. Come to find out, that was two days later. When I woke up I remember thinking "where is mom to wake us up for school?" I left my lower bunk bed and made my way to the staircase. For those of your that have ever been to the Sunnyside house, you remember those stairs. They were a deathtrap. Little better than a ladder, they went straight up. I probably fell down those stairs a hundred times and had a few concussions for my trouble. As I came to the bottom of my stairs my mom appeared. She had me go back to bed, saying she had to talk to us. I could tell she had been crying and I started to worry. I returned to my bed and she woke up my sister. She began to tell us that daddy had died and was now in heaven. I understood immediately but was in shock. My sister on the other hand didn't understand. She asked when he would be coming back. I lashed out at her, screaming 'he's never coming back! He's dead!". After some cuddling and crying, we then went upstairs and we found all my relatives from New York and from Southern California. Grandma's and grandpa's and aunts and uncles. We all sat on the couches and cried. We sat there for hours it seemed like. I got to drink hot chocolate on the couch that day.

The next few days (or weeks maybe) were a blur. There was the wake at Bates, Evans and Fehrenson's. I stared at the corpse for a long time. His face was so waxy looking and surreal. He was posed with his NY hat on and a joint behind his ear. There was a lot of hugs, and kisses. There seemed to be hundreds of people in that room. I don't remember if anyone spoke or if there was a service but there must have been. I was numb. My mom asked if we wanted to kiss him one last time. I refused but my sister did. I am not sure if I regret that or not. Next came the service at church...and another packed house. That service I do remember. I also remember sitting in the front pew and the stream of people walking by to hug us and offer their condolences. There was also a raging party to celebrate his life but I don't remember that at all. Days and weeks passed and life moved on. It got a little easier every day. I had two recurring dreams for about a year after that. One was in black and white and was in the church parking lot. There was a large T shaped antenna and a girl and I were on it walking around and she fell off. She started to ooze bright green blood and I would wake up. In the other dream I was in a large room with a little train town style track running from a door at the far end around the room past me and out a door at the other end. Suddenly the door would open a train would enter. Sitting at about halfway on the train would be my dad. In the dream they had made a mistake and he was really alive. I would always wake up in excitement and then immediately remember. Eventually there came the day when I could not picture his face in my mind. I know what he looks like from pictures but I had lost that memory. I cried a lot that day. 

What I most took away from that whole time was how strong my mom was. She was simply a rock. I don't remember her crying or carrying on at all. Turns out she could keep it together during the day, but once my sister and I were in bed she would break down....every night, for years. How she did it I don't know. It's one of the things I admire most about her. She is an amazing, strong, funny woman and I can only hope that I am half the woman and mother she is. Life was not easy after he died but looking back I would not have had it any other way. Mom had to work long hours at Sunshine to support us. Luckily, we spent many of those hours with her. We also had an immense support system and never lacked for anything.

If anything positive came out of the loss of my father, it's my relationship with my mom. Before his death we were definitely daddy's little angels. Mom was the heavy and he was the fun one. He would hide us from her when she wanted to brush our hair. He would give us whatever we wanted. He was the easy going one. My mom had to do all the "heavy lifting" so to speak. That must have been annoying for her. After he died, she got to do both. She was still the disciplinarian but also got to be the fun one. I think that if everything happens for a reason, that reason is so that I could have the relationship I have with my mom. She is my best friend and mentor and my everything. 

I don't know what life would have been like with him. I don't know how strict he would have been when we became teenagers. I don't know how differently my life would have turned out had he been here. I don't know what it's like to have a father as a teenager, a young adult, or an adult. What I do know is there is no reason to think about what if. This is the way my life was supposed to be and I will live every day knowing that he is watching over me and now my children. I do not feel sorry for myself. I feel joyful knowing I had the opportunity to become that much closer to my mother and my sister. We had our little family that was pushed closer together by tragedy. From that tragedy came a wonderfully full, enriching childhood and life. I love you daddy and miss you every day. You picked an amazing woman to be our mother and I can never thank you enough.

I have cried the entire time I have been writing this so I need a break and a little fun. I think I will write another entry...this time a fun one to get my spirits up! In the meantime, I will leave you with a funny story.

Erin and I were at lunch one day a few years ago and were talking about our parents and what they did for a living. I asked her what my dad did and she said...duh he was a carpenter! I peed my pants laughing. Why, I asked, do you think that? He worked at the Boys and Girls club and had an art degree! Oh, she said, well he looked like Jesus and he was a carpenter so... After we finished laughing we then bet that Adrienne didn't know either...she lost that bet. Adrienne knew exactly what he did. Oh Erin.