DEBRIS

I should have known something was wrong when Paul walked in from work at 10:00 this morning.

But, he was going to take Kayla lunch at school for her birthday, so I kind of thought he just came home an hour early to take advantage of this glorious spring day. You know? Play hooky for a while.

I even made a joke and said "Did you get fired...?"

But no.

He had come home to tell me that my father died this morning. My brother, being the quick thinker and protector that he is, had called Paul at work to tell him first, so that Paul could come home and allow me to collapse into his arms when I heard the news.

My dad died today.

Today, my daughter's birthday. Today, my dad and step mother's wedding anniversary.

And now my house is littered with soggy tissues smeared with mascara and makeup that were fresh just moments before. Mascara and makeup that I had applied just before leaving to run errands on this bright spring day. You know? When this day was "normal."

Except now the day doesn't seem so bright. And it most certainly isn't normal.

Now my heart, like my house, is litterd with debris. The debris of sadness. The debris of a heart not yet ready. And I suspect my life will be so littered for weeks, months to come.

I prayed for his suffering to be minimal.

But perhaps I didn't mean it. Because now that it has happened, I am not ready. I am not willing to believe it. At least I guess I'm not, as I just kept whispering "no, no, no, no, no...not today. Not on my daughter's birthday. Not on his anniversary. Not before I got back there one more time. Not yet. no, no, no, no...." as I slid down the kitchen cabinets to sit on my kitchen floor. My floor that hasn't been swept in two days because I just don't seem to have the energy to maintain my house lately.

More debris.

We were told he appeared stronger and healthier than most patients in end stage cancer. We were told not to be fooled by his appearance.

And yet, I guess I was. Because I was not ready. One week ago, he was still showering and shaving every day, still sitting at the table to eat meals. Still maintaining the best of attitudes and making us laugh, sometimes AT his jokes, sometimes because his jokes were so NOT funny that he was the only one who laughed.

My sweet husband keeps asking what he can do. Who do I want him to call?

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. How many times will I say this over the next few weeks?

I don't know. I don't know how to do this.

I have now become a member of that club to which nobody wants to belong. The club of people who have lost a parent. The dues are heartbreaking. They are too high. And yet we have no choice but to pay them and accept our membership.

And deal with the debris.


I want to be with my siblings. I want to be with the only ones who know this pain like I do. I want to gather with them like we have so often in our lives, as children and as adults, and search for a solution to our latest problem. Problems of divorce, division, loss, anger. Death.

But there is no solution to this. There is only getting through. Getting through the debris. Tossing the used tissues aside when they are soggy and reaching for a new one as I lie in my husband's arms and pray for numbness.

Right now I think that is all I can manage.