I heard the phone vibrating angrily next to my face. Looking over I saw the number that would signify a call I had been expecting but not believing would come for just over a week. I looked at it a little longer and decided I wasn’t in the mood to deal with this and rolled my face back into my pillow.
BZZZZ BZZZZ - New facebook message
BZZZZ BZZZZ - New voicemail
BZZZZ BZZZZ - New text message
BZZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZ - Another telephone call, same number.
I picked up the menacing little device, suddenly a symbol of everything I dreaded.
“Hello?” I mumbled half into the pillow.
“Kae, its Lac-” suddenly unintelligible sobbing.
A new voice. “Kae, it’s your mom,” her voice came over the line thick with tears.
“I just wanted to let you know that your dad passed away at about 11.”
I let out a breath and rolled over, pulling the phone away to check the time - 11:25.
I could hear the sobs racking my little sister along with my mothers harsh breathing.
“I have to call you back,” I muttered - promptly hanging up before the tears could close my throat.
Face back in the pillow and a painful moan shuddered from my toes, up my legs, clenching my stomach, lancing straight through my heart and spilling out my lips.
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. He’d been admitted to the hospital with a bloody nose two weeks prior. I had gone down to see him for the first time in four years thinking this was the end. They’d said he’d be on hospice care until he passed - the focus on keeping him comfortable.
But he wouldn’t pass. He’s my dad. Dad’s don’t die from mysterous, ongoing bouts of cancer that the doctors can’t fix. They make miraculous recoveries just when it all looks hopeless. They show their kids that anything is possible, that they can do anything and that the world is their oyster.
Then I realized that this isn’t a movie and dad’s do die; every hour of every day and my dad is no different. As much as he’s my superhero - my step-moms and sisters and countless other peoples superhero, he’s not indestructible except in my heart and soul.
Miracles happen every day - just not the sort you see in movies.
It’s a miracle that I was brought into this world by two loving and supportive parents. That I was given many opportunities and strengths - not to mention weaknesses - because of them. Each parent had something new to teach me and though I hadn’t seen or spoken with my father in many years, he was teaching me something, even in his passing.
As much as I wanted - we all wanted - that big miracle - that magical recovery - we need to learn to appreciate the little and more often experienced miracles. A parents acceptance of their child’s strengths and weakness. A heated exchange that reveals something telling and, in turn, changes how someone is viewed for the positive. A near disaster that brings members of a family closer together. And, of course, a few extra days where you thought you had none.
My dad and I may not have had a whole lot of contact the last several years but my dad and I aren’t perfect. Regardless of faults, I know I will always remember him as a strong, gruff, sharp-witted, quick to anger, caring, smart, funny, hard working, loving, generous parent who wanted nothing but happiness for himself, his family and his friends. He’s in a better place now, out of pain and filled with the love and happiness he brought to so many others.
Rest in peace, daddy…
-Kae
