I never expected that my father would die before I turned 20 years old.
In the grand scheme of life, it is inevitable that we all die. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, we will all return to the universe. We will not live forever, we are not immortal, and we only belong to this world for a very short amount of time. We are born, live and die on borrowed time.
So when my mother and aunt showed up at my residence hall at 1:30 in the morning, I knew something was wrong. I expected it to be one of my grandparents; my grandfather had died last April, I had experienced this loss before. It would never be any easier, but I knew what to expect.
Until that isn't what it was.
My mom's eyes welled up in tears and my aunt sat beside her with a face made of stone. I noticed that the pants I had hastily pulled on were inside out. Three of my friends were in the classroom staring on in curiosity.
"It's your dad."
And then there was nothing. I had to put my hand over my mouth to keep myself from screaming at the top of my lungs. I couldn't hear, I couldn't see, I couldn't think. There was nothing but white noise. He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't be. I had to ask my mother very timidly, "Is he gone?"
She looked at me with sad eyes and tears streaming down her face and confirmed my worst fear. All hope was lost.
I had had friends lose parents and people I had gone to school with. You see the posts on Facebook and you feel a twinge of empathy and you reach out to let them know you'll do what you can for them. But never in a million years did I think it would happen to me.
After gathering my composure and packing things to start my journey home, I went and spoke with the friends who still sat in the classroom, looking on. Waiting for answers without wanting to look nosey. I didn't know how to say it, so I awkwardly and backwardly announced that my father had passed away and let out the weird, choked laugh I let out when I'm uncomfortable and don't know what else to do.
My friend's eyes got as big as teacup saucers, one going in instantly for a hug for a lack of not knowing what else to do. The other stayed silent, but that was okay. I didn't need a lot of talking. I told them I would be leaving and would let them know more when I myself knew anything more.
And then at 3:00 in the morning, I returned to my hometown to prepare for what would be one of the hardest days of my life.
Naturally, I went through and am still going through the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. My chest felt like a giant hole had been ripped in it and was just filled with nothing. It was empty, save for confusion and turmoil. I was numb all over and it was hard for me to want to get out of bed. I didn't leave the house for days.
He died on a Wednesday, but we didn't get to have the visitation or funeral until Monday, due to state regulations when transporting a corpse. I had four days to prepare, but I don't think an eternity could have prepared me to see a big black casket covered in red roses and know that I would never see or hear my father's voice again.
The hardest thing I have had to realize and try to come to terms with is how many milestones my father will never be there to give me a hug for. He will not be out in the crowd in Rupp Arena when I receive my BA in 2018. He will not walk me down the aisle when I marry the love of my life. He will not be there to meet the new loves of my life who would have called him grandfather. Fathers' Day and his birthday will be days that hurt instead of bringing joy.
I did, unlike some who lose parents, have faith and knew that my father loved me and was proud of me. He valued my education and was always interested in what classes I was taking, always making sure to ask me precisely what I was taking, what work I was doing, how I enjoyed it. And before every departure, should it have been ending a phone call, a text conversation or before he had to go back to Ohio and me back to Lexington, he would always without fail say, "Well, I love you, sweetheart."
He always said it the same way, with the same tone of voice, and I hope for the rest of my life that I never forget exactly what he sounded like.
It's no contest when it comes to losing a parent, it hurts at any age, but I feel like being a teenager or young adult and losing a parent is a pain unlike any other. When you grow older, death and outliving your parents is just something that you become more aware of. The last time I talked to my dad, I was making plans to come visit him and my step mother. We were talking about how far of a drive it was from Lexington and how it'd be nice to spend maybe a week or so with him. He was excited and so was I. I wasn't thinking about how that visit would never come. I didn't think I would have to.
Through this whole process, I have so painfully learned that no matter what plans we have, God's plans are greater and will always trump our own. We don't always understand and honestly it isn't our plan to understand. This was the natural order of life and while it happened prematurely, I will learn to live without him. I never had to live without him for 19 years, eight months and 26 days.
So far it's been less than a month but I feel like I have aged over 50 years. I acknowledge that one day, I will too pass on and leave people heart broken. Death is inevitable and so is grief, but how we deal with such is what really defines who we are as a person. I have been angry and hurt, but now I am trying to accept it as gracefully as I can. I still have a mother, a stepfather and a stepmother. All of whom I know love me just like my father did. I am a product of nothing but love, and I will move forward in the world as such.
No one told me how much this would hurt, but I know I will overcome this adversity. Life comes with plenty of highs and lows. Through this experience I truly realized how many people, apart from my parents, love me. From the faculty of my arts administration program and residence life faculty and staff to my friends and people who used to be friends that I haven't talked to in years, my heart was flooded with more love and support than I could have imagined.
My heart was broken when my father died, but when there are cracks in concrete, flowers have room to grow. I have nothing to do but rise up and do what I know would make my father proud, and that is to be the best person I can be not only for myself but for my father.
