It's a strange thing to type, and a harder one to say. My Dad died. And yet, he did. Suddenly and unexpectedly.
I'm thankful that I was in Birmingham, that I'd arranged to work from the office on Tuesdays, and that I didn't slack off on this particular Tuesday, as I almost did because it was the first day back from the honeymoon. Because of that trip to Birmingham, I got to see and have lunch with my Mom. Because of that, I was less than five minutes from her when she called me with the news that Daddy was very sick. On the way to the hospital. Coding. Unresponsive.
Blessedly, Mom had stopped at Grandma's house on the way out of town, so she wasn't alone or driving in rush hour traffic when she heard the news that Daddy was in the ambulance. By the time we got word that he was gone, we were a mere 50 miles from Florence.
I almost blogged nearly a dozen times today, but didn't because I needed to focus and get work done. "I'm married!" I wanted to exclaim. "I'm back, and mostly tan... at least in patches," I wanted to share. But I didn't. And now I simply can't.
Someday, maybe soon or maybe much later, I'll blog about the amazing wedding (complete with a marshmallow-filled bouquet), and about how I'm thankful to have had those few days near Daddy, with all the kids back home with their babies for one more celebration before what we never knew we would face. I'll blog about the glorious honeymoon, about careening around rail-less cliffs on the "wrong" side of the road with B at the wheel. Someday.
For now, it's all I can do to think. To move. To breathe. This isn't happening. This didn't happen. My Dad loves. Lives. Pulls. Fights. The past tense is not welcome here.
My Dad died today. And I'll always remember.