Tenacious Tiger #4
We were sitting in the living room, waiting to go see the latest movie at the Crescent Cinema. My sister sat at the computer playing a game that let you explore the human body. My mother was changing her clothes after a long shift at the hospital. And I was watching a sports trivia show on ESPN. It was a gorgeous day; lots of bright sun was billowing between the slats of the blinds. School was a few weeks from being finished and I was already gearing up for a fantastic summer of trips to the pool and riding my bike. Goodbye 5th grade; hello 6th grade.
WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP WAP
The knocking on the door was so fierce, the picture of Bobo and I slid off the end-table from the vibrations. The door flung open seconds later without any signal of permission to enter. My grandmother, grandfather, and stepbrother came through the door. And I saw it immediately: my grandmother had been crying. Her eyes were puffy and surrounded by rose colored bags, and her mascara was gloppy as she obviously re-applied on the drive to the house. My grandfather had this frightened, distant look in his eyes, and neither would make eye contact with the three of us.
"Norma, what's going on," my mom asked.
Grandma just looked at my sister and I, and started crying. Violently. My parents had been divorced for maybe 5 years and my dad had re-married and moved to a town a few miles away.
"It's Daryle. He was in an accident and work. And. And."
I knew it already without her even saying anything. My heart stopped. The room started spinning. My body was preparing itself.
"And. And he didn't make it. I'm so sorry."
My sister immediately ran to my mother with tears slipping off her cheeks before she was fully wrapped in my mom's arms. I just slumped back on the couch, tears welling up in my eyes, and I couldn't say anything. I couldn't stand up, I couldn't understand what was going on. An accident? Accidents are tiny, he should be fine. Accidents are like mistakes, you can fix them. He can be fixed. This isn't happening to me, what are you talking about Grandma, let me call Dad and I'll tell him that I love him and everything is going to be okay, right? Why is everyone crying, and why are they staring at me?
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It was the hardest experience of my life. I, today, am a product of my father, and I live my life in honor of him. I never got to say goodbye to him, and I never told him that I loved him the last time that I saw him. I always, always urge my friends and family to tell your loved ones how much they mean to you as often as possible. Call your boyfriend just to say "I love you" during a busy day at the office. Call your grandparents at night and tell them "Thank you for the pancakes when I was 5." Whatever you need to do, do it.
It's funny, though, because now that I'm out off college and in the real world, I find that history is repeating itself. My favorite shaving cream is the same kind my dad used--Brut green-can shaving foam. My favorite socks are the socks that I would always steal from my dad's fresh laundry--they were big and fluffy and could fit perfectly over my seven year old arms. And my favorite holiday is Halloween--I would always dress up as my dad for Halloween, boy was I cute. From now until eternity, every time I shave, put on my shoes, or take my kids trick or treating, I will always remember my dad. My favorite things today remind me of my father, and how much I miss him. I am--in essence--becoming my father. And I'm damn proud of it, too.
The knocking on the door was so fierce, the picture of Bobo and I slid off the end-table from the vibrations. The door flung open seconds later without any signal of permission to enter. My grandmother, grandfather, and stepbrother came through the door. And I saw it immediately: my grandmother had been crying. Her eyes were puffy and surrounded by rose colored bags, and her mascara was gloppy as she obviously re-applied on the drive to the house. My grandfather had this frightened, distant look in his eyes, and neither would make eye contact with the three of us.
"Norma, what's going on," my mom asked.
Grandma just looked at my sister and I, and started crying. Violently. My parents had been divorced for maybe 5 years and my dad had re-married and moved to a town a few miles away.
"It's Daryle. He was in an accident and work. And. And."
I knew it already without her even saying anything. My heart stopped. The room started spinning. My body was preparing itself.
"And. And he didn't make it. I'm so sorry."
My sister immediately ran to my mother with tears slipping off her cheeks before she was fully wrapped in my mom's arms. I just slumped back on the couch, tears welling up in my eyes, and I couldn't say anything. I couldn't stand up, I couldn't understand what was going on. An accident? Accidents are tiny, he should be fine. Accidents are like mistakes, you can fix them. He can be fixed. This isn't happening to me, what are you talking about Grandma, let me call Dad and I'll tell him that I love him and everything is going to be okay, right? Why is everyone crying, and why are they staring at me?
----------
It was the hardest experience of my life. I, today, am a product of my father, and I live my life in honor of him. I never got to say goodbye to him, and I never told him that I loved him the last time that I saw him. I always, always urge my friends and family to tell your loved ones how much they mean to you as often as possible. Call your boyfriend just to say "I love you" during a busy day at the office. Call your grandparents at night and tell them "Thank you for the pancakes when I was 5." Whatever you need to do, do it.
It's funny, though, because now that I'm out off college and in the real world, I find that history is repeating itself. My favorite shaving cream is the same kind my dad used--Brut green-can shaving foam. My favorite socks are the socks that I would always steal from my dad's fresh laundry--they were big and fluffy and could fit perfectly over my seven year old arms. And my favorite holiday is Halloween--I would always dress up as my dad for Halloween, boy was I cute. From now until eternity, every time I shave, put on my shoes, or take my kids trick or treating, I will always remember my dad. My favorite things today remind me of my father, and how much I miss him. I am--in essence--becoming my father. And I'm damn proud of it, too.
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