20 Years

Do you remember where you were 20 years ago?

Perhaps you were getting married to the love of your life, and today was your big day filled with laughter, family, and friends.

Or maybe you were still a child and you remember playing in your inflatable pool on a hot day. Or riding your bike around the neighborhood, the smell of fresh cut grass filling the air with the dull hum of a lawn mower in the background.

But me?

20 years ago was the day my Dad died.

I still remember it very vividly. It was the last day of my 7th grade year at school. I was excited to see my friends one last time before parting ways for summer vacation. It was supposed to be an easy day with my classmates. I wanted to look cute as a last hurrah of the school year. I picked out a navy blue 3 quarter length v neck shirt, khaki colored cargo shorts, and my brown Birkenstock knock off sandals. Remember those?

But my idea of the last day of school drastically changed. I didn’t get to say good bye to my friends. In fact, I never even made it to school at all that day.

I woke up around 4 A.M., hearing frantic footsteps down the hallway. My Mum told me to quickly get up and get dressed. We were having to take my Dad to the hospital.

You see, I had spent a lot of my school year in and out of the hospital with my Dad. He had been very sick that year and received a liver transplant that February. We had made many visits to Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville for check ups prior to his transplant, and even spent almost an entire month there when he actually did receive his liver. He sometimes would have little “episodes” here or there where he would have overnight stays at St. Mary’s in Knoxville. This was normal for us. I had expected this time wasn’t any different than the numerous other times. He’d have to go in for a couple of days, and then he’d be right with us for summer break.

This time it was different.

I remember seeing my Dad being wheeled out on the stretcher into the ambulance. It sounded like he was mumbling some incoherent prayer. I told him I loved him and I would see him soon.

The car ride with my Mum and sister to hospital was eerily silent. I asked Mum if we were going to school that day to say good bye to our friends. She quietly told us no.

It still didn’t hit me, yet, the severity of the situation.

Once we arrived at the hospital, my sister and I were told to sit in the waiting room while my Mum was ushered to a room in the back. It seemed like we waited an eternity in that bright fluorescently lighted, cold, unwelcoming room before a nurse told us we were allowed to come to the back.

We walked silently to a room where we found my Mum crying. It was then I heard the 4 worst words of my entire life.

He didn’t make it.

June 1, 2001 my Dad had passed from ruptured esophageal varices.

(Google it if you aren’t sure what that is)

20 years ago….

I was grieving the death of my Dad. It doesn’t feel like it’s been this long at all. 20 years have gone by filled with college graduations, boyfriends, different jobs, moving across the country, and it still hurts just as much as it did then. It’s a pain that never goes away. Hot tears stream my face even as I even write this. Some years go by easier than others, but it’s never been easy. What was supposed to be the start of a fun summer turned into a traumatic event that has forever shaped my identity.

I look at some people with their parents still living and sometimes it angers me that I was robbed of the chance to see my Dad grow old. I never got the opportunity to get to know how remarkable of a human he was as an adult. Or hear him tell stories about what he was like when he was a kid. Sometimes, a pang of jealousy and envy will ring over me when people get to spend Father’s Day or all their major life events with their Dad.

The good news, though, that while this event in my life has been, indeed, traumatic, it still has shaped me into how I live my life today in a positive way. I don’t take people for granted. I enjoy the simpler things because anything trivial and petty just doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of life. I try to look for the good in most situations, especially with people because you just never know when your last moment is with them.

And even though my Dad hasn’t been a physical part of my life, I still feel he’s with me every day. I am most definitely my Father’s child. I see it in the way I am passionate about food and different flavors and aromas. I see it in the way I have a goofy sense of humor (Dad jokes FTW!) and love a good practical joke. I see it in the way I drum to the beat of an AC/DC song in my car. I see it in the way I can make different friends from all walks of life. I don’t think he knew a stranger. I see it in the way I can embarrassingly dance down the aisle of a grocery store with no shame. (IFYKYK)

I try to live passionately the way I saw my Dad live. I was only blessed to have him 13 years of my life, but those 13 years showed me so much. Some people can spiral in a negative way when faced with anything traumatic. I chose to use my pain as a lesson and so I can be a guiding light to others. If we only have a short time on earth, why not try to live it to its fullest and help those in need!?

So the last 20 years without my Dad has been so insightful, painful, and also full of adventure. But I am hopeful the next 20 will be even more full of love, laughter, and memories.

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal. Love leaves a memory no one can steal.”

RIP DAD.