Why I'm not a fan of Saturdays

Exactly four weeks ago, my father passed away. Exactly four weeks after my sweet baby girl was born. I very vividly remember laying down for the evening (Paul and Baby Tres were still up), I had just laid down and cracked my Nook open, hoping to make headway with my book club book. I heard my cell phone ringing downstairs and I figured that Paul would answer it, and when he did, I remember getting a funny feeling in my stomach, because really, what good comes from phone calls at 11PM? Except maybe a baby being born? Well, we had already scratched that off of our list.

I remember Paul stuttering in to the phone. He couldn't even speak properly, he finally just said to hold on and he handed it to me. That was when my mom told me that my father had a heart attack and that they were in the process of reviving him. I remember scrambling around, getting dressed, trying to find someone to come over and watch the kids. I remember the drive over to my parents house, a drive that I have probably made thousands of times before, and now I can't even do without getting a pit in my stomach.

That whole way to my parents' house I kept thinking, "This isn't good, no one has called us yet with which hospital they are taking him to." Just the feeling of knowing that the longer it takes to revive him, the less likely he will survive. Unfortunately, I know way too much about heart attacks and post codes and survival rates through my job. I knew that this was just awful.

The minute we pulled up, I bolted out of the van and ran inside. And I remember just sobbing on the floor next to my mom while she sat quietly on the couch in the living room. A room that we didn't really use too often. I remember having to tell one of my brothers over the the phone that Dad didn't make it. Having to hear him softly cry over the phone.

I have all of these bad memories that just keep flashing through my mind. And each time I feel like I can't possibly sink any deeper. I have to make a conscious effort to remind myself of all of the wonderful memories of my dad. How funny and sweet and crazy he was. That's how he will live on, by how we remember him and how we choose to live our lives from this point forward.

I try to be thankful each and every day. I'm thankful that even though my dad is gone, that I have my mom and my three brothers. We all love each other and get along. I'm so very thankful for my husband and my three beautiful children--and that my dad met them and held them. Like my mom says, "This is part of the deal." But it still royally sucks.