The last two weeks have been busy. And awful. Jan 25th, 2011 marked the worst day of my life. It started out as a normal day, and I intended to watch the State of the Union and write on that. I was trying to get stuff done at work. That morning, we had a portable shed delivered at my church. My dad took me to deliver buildings like these, only bigger, since I was a kid. It is an easier job with a couple of people that know what they are doing. Anyway, they had a trailer designed for these buildings. It had a remote controlled axle that dropped down allowing the trailer to drive itself side to side. It was too small to haul Dad's buildings, but it was interesting. My plan was to call Dad that evening to tell him about it, because I thought he'd get a kick out of it.
Imagine my surprise when at around 4:10 my cell phone rang and my caller ID read "Mom." My thought was "Mom probably wants to tell me about work. I'll talk to her and have her hand the phone to dad." Instead, Mom told me that my dad was dead. At first I thought she was saying the dog was dead. They have three, so I was confused. When I finally understood, I told her that that could not be right. It could not be. Both his parents are living, and his brother died a year and a week before. Denial is a very real thing in that situation.
Next thing I know, I was on my hands and knees sobbing. I don't really remember walking out of my office into the auditorium, but that's where I fell, weeping. I don't do emotion well, but sadness, sorrow, fear, and helplessness come to mind. It is all so overwhelming.
I was on the phone with Mom for a while. She had walked in and found him. He was already cold. My dad was such a people person, that after I had a day to process, I finally cried and said "It wasn't right that he died alone." Anyway, I called Kraig, who lives down the street from me to come pick me up because I couldn't drive. Somewhere in there I packed stuff I would need from my office. I asked Kraig to take me home so I could pack. By this point, I couldn't see, I was hyperventilating, I was shaking, and I could barely stand upright.
Kraig did not take me home. He took me to his house, just down the street. I think it was his wife's idea. They gave me water, and calmed me down so I could breathe. It was as this point that I called Grandma to tell her. She kept saying "Is he dead?" "Yes Grandma, he is." "No..." This conversation kept repeating. She finally said, "I've lost two of my boys, you know." "I know, Grandma." No parent should ever have to bury a child, let alone two. Then Larry, the Sr. Minister of my church, came over and prayed with me. He stayed for a while, and other people came over. My phone kept ringing. Minister's from Mom and Dad's church, Dad's brothers, friends who found out. I also handed Kraig my debit card, and he got me a flight out. We printed out the boarding pass and he dropped me off at my place to pack. Then I called Mom, and started returning voicemails.
I attended the funeral of the father of my friend John last year. I knew he was close to his dad too, so I asked him, "How do I get through?" We talked for hours. He talked to me, warned me of things. One was that you swing back and forth between waves of emotion and numbness. The more this happens, the longer the numb spells go. I then got a shower, and realized my devotional for that morning was 2 Cor. 5. "To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord."
This passage always filled me with longing. Longing to be in the very presence of Jesus. Dad beat me to it. This set me crying again. It's one thing to believe in life after death. It is another to have experienced the power and love, the presence of the Almighty God. Belief isn't a strong enough word, neither is faith. I KNOW it. Because I trust wholly this God whom I've met, who I've talked with, who leads me daily. Now I long to be with my Father and my dad, who are in heaven.
That night, in the four hours that I attempted to sleep, I did go in and out of awareness, but didn't get any sleep. At 4:00AM, I got up to see it snowing, and got ready. An hour later, I left on a three hour trip on slick roads to the airport. My Senior Minister drove me, because he had 4 wheel drive and no one trusted me to drive, including me. When I checked in for my flight, everything was on time. From the time it took me to walk from security to Gate 4, everything was delayed.
I sat there talking to a flight attendant. No big deal. 1 hour delay. I couldn't concentrate to read, so I sat there watching CNN. Then they announced another delay, another 30 minutes. I pretty much freaked out. I started pacing like a caged animal. I talked on the phone until the battery died. Then I got an update on the plane; the flight attendant told me they were waiting on the plane to arrive from Rhode Island. I finally managed to find an outlet that worked, on the side of the moving sidewalk. I then stood next to it, stamping my feet and talking on the phone. I tried calling Mom with an update at one point. I couldn't get her, and tried calling the house line. I got the machine with my dad's recording on it, and about lost it. I finally talked to my sister, whom up to this point I was afraid I could not handle talking to. Three hours later, the plane finally took off, my sanity hanging by a thread.
On the two hour plane ride, I alternated between staring at the back of the seat in front of me, and my watch. I ate my peanuts, knowing I needed salt. When I landed, people from my parents church were there to get me: Todd Murphy, my high school youth minister and close friend of my father, Doc and Mary Jones, whom have been friends of my parents my whole life, and Todd's daughter Amy, whom my dad always said "Her name is Anthony Micheal Young. We call her AMY for short." I hugged each of them, and we talked on the car ride to the funeral home.
Mom, my sister, and her husband were already there. That was the first we saw each other. I grabbed Mom with one arm and Rebecca with the other and we wept. Damon rubbed my back, comforting us as best he could. They had already chosen a casket (there are less options for a man of Dad's large size.) They chose a grey casket and red flowers, representing the Scarlett and Gray of Dad's favorite team, the Ohio State University Buckeyes. Randy, their senior minister was there. He said "We need to plan a service. I asked them and they would only say that it was your decision." We talked it out. Dad said he wanted his funeral to be funny, and we had some ideas. He asked me about the internment, and I said I could not think about that right now.
There were many people at the house during that evening. Many phone calls and voicemails. Many facebook messages. We had supper. We cried. A lot. Somehow I found myself going through Dad's desk, looking for answers. I told Damon that and cried more. We also decided to make a slideshow of pictures for the viewing. Their youth minister, Matt, put it together, but we flipped through photo albums to find them. Finally, Damon came and grabbed me and basically shoved me into my old room to make me get some sleep. I was awake for 39 hours straight. My eyes had been burning for more than 24 hours from the tears. I have never seen dark circles like I saw in the mirror. It looked fake, or like I had a broken nose. Needless to say, I collapsed into bed that night. That was the longest and worst day of my life.
The next day was the viewing. We arrived at the church and started hugging people in the lobby. Then Randy came out and opened the door. I sat down on the couch out there and started to cry. "I don't want to go in." Mom said, "You have to." She got under one arm and we started to cry hard. Damon got under the other and half-carried me in there. I have no idea if he was crying. What I do know is I could not have made it that couple of days without him. I also know I dreading going in there, because when I saw the body I had to accept this was real.
I sat on the front row and unleashed everything I was feeling. Specifically, that my safety net had been cut. Dad has always been there for me, and now he isn't. But Damon whispered in my ear that I would be ok and he would be there for me. So did Todd and Randy. I'm going to need them. Because we humans need each other. I leaned heavily on Dad. He helped me write sermons. I talked to him about girls (and the lack thereof). I talked to him about frustrations in ministry and what to do about it. Now my life will never be the same.
I learned a lot of things that will be the subject of many years of blog posts, but for now I will leave you with one. It is great when the church is the church. There is nothing better. People flocked to my parents house to help Mom. People brought so much food (and still are bringing it) that we had to throw it away. They came out just to spend time with us and laugh and comfort us. There were so many, who did so many things we lost count. There is nothing better than the church actually being the church.
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