That day again
Here it is again - the day I hate most. The day I wish wouldn't come; I wish I could wake up and find that this day had been skipped. But it won't skip. It won't not come. It's comes every year, and here it is again. October 1st 2013 was such a normal day for me. Let me tell you, let me try to explain, just how normal and boring that day was. I woke up around 8ish and spent all day in class. I procrastinated doing homework for the longest possible time before finally giving up and getting it done. I hung out with friends and went to a club meeting where I laughed and joked around and smiled with people who I loved and trusted and was, maybe not actually friends, but more of "friends by convenience" with. I got dinner late and hung out with Steven and Dan and Matt and Justin until suddenly it was almost midnight and I had class the next morning and so I said goodnight to my friends and disappeared across the building to my room where, around midnight, I went to sleep. I never could have imagined that two hours later, at two o'clock in the morning, there would be a knock on the door... and my mom would be standing there... and she would give me the worst news imaginable - that my dad had died.
I'll try to explain that night. I'll try.
I was so confused when I woke up that morning to loud banging on the door. My roommate answered the door, then turned around. "It's for you," she said. (Later on, she would tell me that she thought she was dreaming. She was so confused because "I opened the door, and you from the future was standing there!") I forced myself slightly more awake and saw my mom standing there, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out why she would be there in the middle of the night. My first thought was that I was dreaming. I had to be dreaming because why, why would my mother be standing in the doorway of my dorm room - four and a half hours away from home - in the middle of the night? I wanted to just pull the covers back over my head and go back to sleep because obviously this was some sort of weird middle-of-the-night half-asleep hallucination. But I couldn't because my mom - who was, for reasons my not-yet-awake brain couldn't piece together, really there - came over and told me we needed to talk. We needed to go downstairs to the lounge, where we could talk without keeping my roommate awake, and talk. And so I got out of my warm bed, put on a pair of slippers, and obediently followed my mother out of the room.
The light in the hallway forced me awake. I saw a university police officer standing there and was confused when he looked away instead of meeting my questioning glance. My first thought, my stupid, stupid first thought was that I was getting kicked out of school... but I couldn't figure out why. In a matter of seconds, what seemed like a million different thoughts raced through my mind as I tried to figure out why, why, why I would be getting kicked out of school. Nothing came to mind - except for the one time my group in history class got in trouble for plagiarism because one group member copy-pasted one sentence from Wikipedia and myself and the other group member didn't catch it before we turned in our answers - and so my next thought, a horrible thought, was that something had happened to my grandma.
My grandma, who has been in my life for forever. My grandma who loves me and accepts me and who I know will always be there. My grandma who has the best advice and the corniest jokes and a bottle of rum in her purse. My grandma who I don't know what I would do without. If I wasn't getting kicked out of school, then I just knew something horrible had happened to my grandma.
I stopped. I couldn't walk. I couldn't move, knowing that something had happened to her. After being assured - more than once - that grandma was fine, I found my feet again and kept moving forward. The walk from my room to the lounge was usually only a good 10 seconds or so, but this night, it seemed so much longer - miles, maybe. But seconds later, if it wasn't my grandma, then it had to be my sister. It had to be that something had happened to Nikki. Something happening to one of my siblings and me not being there for them, that's one of my biggest fears in life, though I won't admit it. But if it wasn't grandma, then it had to be Nikki.
"What happened to Nikki?!" I started to ask, but the words never came out of my mouth because at that point we were walking down the stairs and I saw her there. A wave of relief washed over me because seeing her there, I knew she was okay. I saw her, curled up so I couldn't see her face... but I also saw my aunt and one of my cousins... and I couldn't figure out why. If nothing had happened to my grandma or to my sister, then what could have happened? And to who? My mom made me sit down... and... and...
"There was an accident."
"What do you mean?"
"Daddy was in a car accident."
My heart stopped. "Is he...?" I didn't end that question. I left it hanging, and I don't know what word I would have ended it with. I think I wanted to say "okay", but I had a feeling it wouldn't be. They wouldn't be there, at two in the morning, if everything was okay. But I couldn't ask if he had died because "died" and "my dad" didn't belong in the same sentence. He was going to be there forever. He was going to call me on my birthday and tell me happy birthday and tease me about being old and I would tease him back about being older. We were going to go down to his house at Christmas and spend a Christmas with him.
"Daddy was killed in a car accident."
I didn't have any words or any thoughts. I burst into tears. I think my mom asked if I wanted to come home and I think I may have nodded. I made my way back up to my room, where my roommate was awake and waiting for me to come in. She asked if everything was okay, and I choked out that my dad had died - the words were foreign to me and made no sense in that combination because it wasn't possible - and that I was going home. I started to pack, but couldn't. All I could manage to do was sit on the floor and cry as my sister and my mom and my roommate packed for me. I would have forgotten Rover - the toy dog I've had since I was three - if my roommate hadn't handed him to me with the words "I know you need him." And then I left. Two thirty in the morning, and I sent a text to my friends saying I was leaving for a few days because of a "family emergency". It was only Steven - because even though we don't talk now, at the time he was my best friend - who I told everything to at two thirty in the morning even though I knew he wouldn't read it until he crawled out of bed at who-knows-what-time.
We didn't go right home. I was running on two hours of sleep, after a day that started way too early in the morning the day before, but Nikki and I wanted to be with our grandparents and they wanted to be with us too. All of us together, not understand what happened or why or how. Not being able to make any sense of it. Cece, my best friend since second grade, was the first to text me that morning. I don't know how she knew before it was even up on Facebook, but she did and she was there and I will forever appreciate that. I panicked and sent an email to the teachers for the classes I had that day, telling them I wouldn't be in class because of a family emergency. Word got out among my friends and my teachers and I got loving words from friends, and emails from teachers telling me not to worry about the work I would miss in class while I was gone.
And then we went to Alabama. Nine of us in a 12-passenger van (I still refuse to believe 12 people could fit comfortably in it) for 21 hours from New York to Alabama. Walking into the house - my dad's house - was the worst. His truck was in the driveway and he wasn't there to greet us. He wasn't there to give me and hug and say "what's up, girl?" He wasn't there to tell us how much he missed us and how excited he was to see us again. I kept listening to hear his voice and his laugh. I kept waiting to see him come out from behind a corner or to be hiding in some random room as we toured the house... but he wasn't there, and my heart was broken and nothing made sense. And then there was the wake... and the funeral...
So how does it feel two years later? It sucks. It still doesn't make sense and I still wish it had all been a dream and that he was still here. There's still times when something stupid or funny or anything happens and I want to text him about it. There's still times where I think to myself "I should call Dad, it's been so long since I've talked to him." There's still times I catch myself looking to see if he liked something I posted on facebook. There's stupid jokes I've heard that I know would make him laugh and stupid jokes he used to tell. There was one joke that I used to call him and ask him to tell it. There's stories I want to tell him and stupid customers to tell him about and student loans I want to complain to him about and so just much I wish I could say to him. How does it feel two years later? It hurts just as much as it did two years ago. And I hate it.
I'll try to explain that night. I'll try.
I was so confused when I woke up that morning to loud banging on the door. My roommate answered the door, then turned around. "It's for you," she said. (Later on, she would tell me that she thought she was dreaming. She was so confused because "I opened the door, and you from the future was standing there!") I forced myself slightly more awake and saw my mom standing there, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out why she would be there in the middle of the night. My first thought was that I was dreaming. I had to be dreaming because why, why would my mother be standing in the doorway of my dorm room - four and a half hours away from home - in the middle of the night? I wanted to just pull the covers back over my head and go back to sleep because obviously this was some sort of weird middle-of-the-night half-asleep hallucination. But I couldn't because my mom - who was, for reasons my not-yet-awake brain couldn't piece together, really there - came over and told me we needed to talk. We needed to go downstairs to the lounge, where we could talk without keeping my roommate awake, and talk. And so I got out of my warm bed, put on a pair of slippers, and obediently followed my mother out of the room.
The light in the hallway forced me awake. I saw a university police officer standing there and was confused when he looked away instead of meeting my questioning glance. My first thought, my stupid, stupid first thought was that I was getting kicked out of school... but I couldn't figure out why. In a matter of seconds, what seemed like a million different thoughts raced through my mind as I tried to figure out why, why, why I would be getting kicked out of school. Nothing came to mind - except for the one time my group in history class got in trouble for plagiarism because one group member copy-pasted one sentence from Wikipedia and myself and the other group member didn't catch it before we turned in our answers - and so my next thought, a horrible thought, was that something had happened to my grandma.
My grandma, who has been in my life for forever. My grandma who loves me and accepts me and who I know will always be there. My grandma who has the best advice and the corniest jokes and a bottle of rum in her purse. My grandma who I don't know what I would do without. If I wasn't getting kicked out of school, then I just knew something horrible had happened to my grandma.
"There was an accident."
"What do you mean?"
"Daddy was in a car accident."
My heart stopped. "Is he...?" I didn't end that question. I left it hanging, and I don't know what word I would have ended it with. I think I wanted to say "okay", but I had a feeling it wouldn't be. They wouldn't be there, at two in the morning, if everything was okay. But I couldn't ask if he had died because "died" and "my dad" didn't belong in the same sentence. He was going to be there forever. He was going to call me on my birthday and tell me happy birthday and tease me about being old and I would tease him back about being older. We were going to go down to his house at Christmas and spend a Christmas with him.
"Daddy was killed in a car accident."
I didn't have any words or any thoughts. I burst into tears. I think my mom asked if I wanted to come home and I think I may have nodded. I made my way back up to my room, where my roommate was awake and waiting for me to come in. She asked if everything was okay, and I choked out that my dad had died - the words were foreign to me and made no sense in that combination because it wasn't possible - and that I was going home. I started to pack, but couldn't. All I could manage to do was sit on the floor and cry as my sister and my mom and my roommate packed for me. I would have forgotten Rover - the toy dog I've had since I was three - if my roommate hadn't handed him to me with the words "I know you need him." And then I left. Two thirty in the morning, and I sent a text to my friends saying I was leaving for a few days because of a "family emergency". It was only Steven - because even though we don't talk now, at the time he was my best friend - who I told everything to at two thirty in the morning even though I knew he wouldn't read it until he crawled out of bed at who-knows-what-time.
We didn't go right home. I was running on two hours of sleep, after a day that started way too early in the morning the day before, but Nikki and I wanted to be with our grandparents and they wanted to be with us too. All of us together, not understand what happened or why or how. Not being able to make any sense of it. Cece, my best friend since second grade, was the first to text me that morning. I don't know how she knew before it was even up on Facebook, but she did and she was there and I will forever appreciate that. I panicked and sent an email to the teachers for the classes I had that day, telling them I wouldn't be in class because of a family emergency. Word got out among my friends and my teachers and I got loving words from friends, and emails from teachers telling me not to worry about the work I would miss in class while I was gone.
And then we went to Alabama. Nine of us in a 12-passenger van (I still refuse to believe 12 people could fit comfortably in it) for 21 hours from New York to Alabama. Walking into the house - my dad's house - was the worst. His truck was in the driveway and he wasn't there to greet us. He wasn't there to give me and hug and say "what's up, girl?" He wasn't there to tell us how much he missed us and how excited he was to see us again. I kept listening to hear his voice and his laugh. I kept waiting to see him come out from behind a corner or to be hiding in some random room as we toured the house... but he wasn't there, and my heart was broken and nothing made sense. And then there was the wake... and the funeral...
So how does it feel two years later? It sucks. It still doesn't make sense and I still wish it had all been a dream and that he was still here. There's still times when something stupid or funny or anything happens and I want to text him about it. There's still times where I think to myself "I should call Dad, it's been so long since I've talked to him." There's still times I catch myself looking to see if he liked something I posted on facebook. There's stupid jokes I've heard that I know would make him laugh and stupid jokes he used to tell. There was one joke that I used to call him and ask him to tell it. There's stories I want to tell him and stupid customers to tell him about and student loans I want to complain to him about and so just much I wish I could say to him. How does it feel two years later? It hurts just as much as it did two years ago. And I hate it.
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