I’m too young for this {part I}

I’m too young for this is a series of posts that I wrote shortly after the death of my dad.  I wrote them so that I would remember.  It’s been 2 1/2 years since that day and I’m just now ready to share them, starting today, his birthday.

The phone call came in the wee hours of the morning just as we knew that it would.  My brother and I left the hospital that night with hesitation.  We knew.  We even knew it enough to say that we were okay if this was the last time we saw him.  We expected that it would be.  The signs were all there.

How, I wonder now, did I ever go from knowing nothing about death – like, nothing – like not a clue about what your body goes through other than drawing on my childhood expertise of numerous hamsters who met their demise in a cage in the corner of my bedroom – to here.  Here, where I knew that his body had gone through what it needed to in order to shut down.  How did this happen?  When did I become the girl who no longer had her daddy?  This wasn’t suppose to happen.  Not yet.  I had a plan.

My plan went something like this.  My parents now yearly trips down south for the winter became longer with each passing year.  It meant we saw them a bit less, which we didn’t like at all, but it also meant that we got to live in their house just the five of us.  Somehow time would pass and my kids would  finish school, marry beautiful wives and we would all still meet their Grandpa and Grandma at Tony’s for breakfast.  Somewhere along the way I would turn 60, my dad would be in his late 80’s and we would reminisce about the old days and talk of what a great life he’s lived and how he did so much and how he was ready to go now.

That was my plan.  Clearly, I do not have a hand in the decisions of the universe because it didn’t go like this at all.  At.  all.

Instead, I’m 32.  I’m 32!  Do you hear that God?  32!  Not 60.  Not with fully grown children and in the phase of life where I can care for my parents.  32…32.  My munchkins are little.  My days revolve around packing lunches, spelling tests and making sure everyone has brushed their teeth to an adequate shine.  I’m working part time to help make ends meet.  I’m volunteering in classrooms.  I’m having coffee with girlfriends, a luxury one officially deserves when the youngest of her children finally makes it to first grade.  This is my life.  It’s nice.  It does not have room for a dying parent.  It just doesn’t.

But here I am answering the phone.  Hello? Hi Rhonda, It’s Kev.  Is it Dad? Yeah, he’s gone.  Are you going to the hospital to be with mom? Yeah.  I’ll meet you there.

And like someone who seems like they know what to do in this situation I crawl out of bed and throw on the clothes, already saturated with hospital smell, that  had been tossed there just a few hours earlier.  I kiss my husband, tell him Dad’s gone, and head out into the darkness.


7 thoughts on “I’m too young for this {part I}

  1. I can sort of relate… having lost my father in law to the same vicious disease… our call came while driving to pick up Mcartney from school and we then started the task of booking LITERALLY last minute tickets home to make it back to Canada in time for the funeral. We are too young for this, and it still breaks my heart to think of what my kids are missing out on… and the things my husband will miss out on talking to his dad about. It just doesn’t seem right… and yet, here we are.

    Knowing we aren’t in this alone is the thing that keeps us going. That… and our faith and ever loving and always present Saviour.

    Glad you’re sharing these thoughts… so many will be able to relate to them and take some of your strength away with them.

    Love you


  2. I still think it’s crazy that we’d never even heard of the disease before and it turns out its the same thing that attacked your father-in-law. I remember you telling me shortly after that you comforted your kids by saying that they were so lucky that they had such a fabulous grandpa for even a short time and them missing him was just a testimony to how great he was! That’s exactly how I feel. Sure it seems like they’re missing out now but at least while they had him, they had the best!


  3. Rhonda, I was 26 when my father died. You and my children were just little and we lived on Capri court. I know how you feel. You will always feel a wee bit cheated when it comes to your babies sharing his life, but I promise you in time the pain lessens. Does it go away, no. My father has been gone over 30 yrs and some days it feels like yesterday, but most days it’s really ok. My Dads smile is lodged in my memory and heart. Your dads smile is there too! His laughter will never leave you and your boys memories of him will always be strong.
    They did have the best Grampa and you had the best Dad.


  4. Thanks, Jo-Ann. I would have been too little at that point to remember. I barely remember anything from capri court. Except of course when the guy escaped from prison and came down our street!
    Thanks for sharing your thoughts, appreciate them 🙂


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