A drive
Today I drove by the spot where my father died. He had a massive heart attack in a gravel parking lot almost 11 years ago. People were parked in that spot, walking to and from their cars completely unaware of my tragedy there. I felt like telling them to move their stupid cars and respect the man that made me but I kept driving and thinking.
11 quick years ago I received a frantic call from my mother. It was a lazy Sunday morning and my wife and I were just shaking the cobwebs out.
My mom was crying, half screaming, “Your father’s dead, your father’s dead”.
“What are you talking about mom?” I tried calming her down.
“Your father’s dead. Someone from the Bargersville Flea Market just called and said he’s dead.” My mom relayed without calming one bit.
“He’s in Bargersville?” Making sure before I took off.
“Yes.”
“I’ll call you when I find out, Mom.” With that I told my wife, jumped in the car and broke every traffic rule in Indiana. I passed people on the right side of the road, I ran red lights and honestly didn’t care if I got in a wreck. I held hope that my mom or the Bargersville informant was exaggerating.
Sliding my car to a stop in the gravel I jumped out. Immediately I could feel that all the spectators were looking at me. Not angry because I had thrown gravel in their direction but with sympathy.
“Where’s my dad.” I asked the crowd
Someone pointed to the ambulance and a few others said “In there”. I threw the doors open on the ambulance and saw two men working on my father.
“Hey, what are you doing?” an angry paramedic asked me.
“That’s my dad.”
His tone and expression changed instantly “Oh. You don’t really need to be in here. We are doing our best to revive him.” With that he escorted me out and told me some babble about his heart stopping for several minutes and after 3 times with the paddles they were able to get his heart going again. Then the ambulance left.
I stood there in the dust with a crowd of people trying not to stare at me but staring anyway. A policeman came up and gave me my father’s gun which he carried in his pocket. A gentleman with nice intentions gave me the keys to my dad’s truck and his shirt that the paramedics cut off him. Numbly, I got in my car and started driving to the hospital. Before the first stop light I was crying. My dad’s dead. I smelled his shirt and it was really him. In the sterile environment his brain had stopped but his heart kept going. In 3 days the hospital pronounced him dead, heart and mind.
When I drive by that spot, which is rarely, that day always comes to mind. Immediately following the reliving of that awful day, I think about the last time we talked. We sat in the kitchen and talked about flea markets, life, and family for about an hour. He gave me a Banana Splits thermos, we hugged and exchanged “I love you’s”. That last talk has made these 11 years since much more bearable. Remember that when you talk to your family the next time, especially if they make you mad. There’s no going back…..
Sorry for being so serious today but some days are like that.
