As mentioned in a previous post, Dad had suffered a heart attack already which was the reason he had to quit his job on the oil truck. Back then (in the 70s) they didn’t have the technology like they do today. When your heart gave up that was it, case closed. I don’t even know if they had defibrillators back then. I guess maybe they did, but I was too young to know anything about them. And Dad really didn’t have a bad lifestyle. He didn’t smoke or drink. He was an average size man, not overweight at all. He ate a healthy diet, vegetables from the garden, etc. But according to the doctor he had a bad heart.

I was awakened late one night by the horrible, horrible sound of him vomiting profusely. Mom was already up, going back and forth, trying to get him to the point she could get him in the car and to the hospital. The endless ride to the emergency room. They rushed him on back to an examining room while Mom and I waited out in the waiting area. It was scary to say the least. I had never witnessed anything like that before or heard anyone that sick before. It still echoed in my mind. Mom called my aunt and uncle to come and take me back to their house. The doctors finally got him stabilized and allowed Mom and I to go in his room. I walked over to the side of his bed which was raised where they had been working on him. I wanted to give him a kiss on the cheek before I left but I just couldn’t reach him. I stretched as far as I could. He was unconscious so he didn’t even know I was there. Mom stayed in the waiting area for what seemed like a couple days. I left with my relatives.

My aunt and uncle asked me the next day if I wanted to go see my Dad, but having just experienced all that panic and stress, I wasn’t ready to step back in the situation just yet. I told them, “no, I’ll wait till the next day”. Sadly, that next day never came. It was December 21st, just 4 days before Christmas. About 7:30 pm there was a knock at the door. As a 12 year old, playing with your cousins, I didn’t pay any attention to the fact it was the pastor from church. Dad and I saw him almost every day, so it wasn’t unusual for him to be around. After a few minutes, my uncle and aunt called for me to come in the den and sit down. I took a seat on the sofa and my aunt sat down beside me. The pastor kneeled in front of me and proceeded to say, “your Dad is gone”. I literally had no idea what he was talking about. Dad traveled to places all the time, that was not unusual. So I asked, “where’d he go”?

They all tried to explain to me in a gentle way that he had died. But I had never experienced anyone dying before so I just couldn’t grasp what was going on. “When’s he coming back”, I asked. Finally my aunt explained that he had gone to be with Jesus and he would not be coming back. It still didn’t quite sink in exactly what was going on. I was told to get my things and they took me back to my house.

Walking in the door of my own house was an experience that made me realize the depth of what had happened. The living room was full of people, family, church members, neighbors, and there sat Mom on the sofa crying uncontrollable. Women trying to comfort her. When I walked in the room people started towards me giving me hugs and ushering me to the couch with Mom. It was a crazy time. So much sadness in everyone.

Eventually, it was decided for both Mom and myself to go stay with that same aunt and uncle. Mom had to make funeral preparations, but I was distracted by my 2 cousins wanting to play. That was good in one sense. The funeral was held on December 24th, Christmas Eve. To this day, I cannot stand to listen to Christmas hymns. It sounds like funeral music to me. Christmas has never, ever been the same since then. It changed the way I feel about it forever I guess. I know the real meaning of Christmas, but it’s not a happy time for me. I dread when Christmas rolls around each year and honestly, I don’t know how I could ever change it. I’ve tried…