Losing A Parent Suddenly: How Do You Find Closure?

On May 12, 2006, life ended as I knew it.  I got a phone call from my sister.  "Dad fell down the stairs.  We are at the hospital.  We need you to come," she said sobbing.  I fell to my knees.

On the plane, I told myself it would be okay.  People fall down the stairs all the time.  My Dad was tough.  As I stepped onto the hospital I saw a huge bronze plaque.  It said, "Welcome to Vanderbilt Trauma Center- Best In The Country!"  Surely they can fix this, I told myself.

When I saw my Dad I couldn't move.  That was not my father.  Why did he have all those tubes?  There must be some mistake.  I don't know how long I stood there.  Time just stood still.

My palms were dripping with sweat.  I was unable to catch my breath.  Someone was talking.  I don't who it was.  All I heard was, "You might want to prepare to say goodbye."

Say goodbye?  I hadn't even said hello yet.  I reached for my dad's hand.  I tried to say hello.  Then the tears came.  I had to get out of there.

I sat in the hospital parking garage sucking down cigarettes.  I tried to figure out how to say goodbye.  There were so many things I needed to say.  I tried for the next four days.  But I couldn't find the words.

When I returned home from the funeral, I was lost.  Nothing helped.  Someone suggested that I write my dad a letter.  He wouldn't be reading it.  What was the point?  I thought.

It took me a few weeks just to get past "Dear Dad."  But, I kept trying.  When it finally came out, I couldn't stop.  I told him I was angry.  I told him I was scared.   I told him I couldn't stop crying.  I told him I didn't want to live without him.  I told him I was sorry for everything I had ever done to make him mad.  I told him everything I could think of.  I have never opened the letter since I wrote it.

I will always miss him.  Certain songs will remind me of him.  I will see him in others.  The letter gave me the closure I needed.  I try to remember the good times now.  Not the way he died.