Today is a day of history in my family -
I don't have a lot of funny today. The first part of October always gets me thinking. Several years ago on October 7th, it was a lazy Sunday morning and I was still working out the cobwebs. My mom called me frantic. She kept saying in a screaming, crying voice,
"your fathers dead. Your fathers 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 Geo Storm 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.
I tried to retain some composure as I asked the crowd “Where’s my dad?”
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. I said "thanks". Then the ambulance left.

I stood there in the dust with a crowd of people trying not to stare at me but staring anyway. I was the train wreck that you can't take your eyes off. A policeman came up and gave me my father’s gun which he carried in his pocket. He didn't want to do the paperwork for the gun. A gentleman with nice intentions gave me the keys to my dad’s truck and his green and maroon 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.

At the hospital I called the family and gave them the horrible news. In the sterile environment of a hospital his brain had stopped but his heart kept going. After 3 days the hospital pronounced him dead, heart and mind. It was October 10th.

Early that morning my Dad had set up at a flea market in Bargersville, south of Indianapolis. He was sitting on the back of his old truck selling random junk to strangers when he had a major heart attack. He fell into the gravel and never woke up again. He usually set up next to an ER nurse but on that day the nurse was gone. There's no other way to look at it than to say it was his time to go.

I don't like to dwell on the negative though, 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 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…..