I have a hard time talking on the phone right now. People are telling me I am a great writer and so able to express these emotions. But only in type. I have retreated to my fingertips. Simply speaking the words is why people who experience this loss are often voiceless. Words that are even whispered feel like screams echoing in my mind. I notice I am sensitive to sound volume and brightness too. Any senses are too extreme in a world that doesn't make sense.
So I often am holding my phone as I watch it ring, knowing I won't answer it. No matter who is on the phone. Father's day held an exception. Though I believe it was a day late. My sense of timing is scattered as well.
I answered the phone when "Dad" came up. Sometimes its hard to remember other people are suffering Anna's loss as well. The first Granddaughter after 3 wild and fun Grandson's. I can't even tell you how many times a package of pink clothes would show up, and I would call my mom and she would tell me, "she had to!" I know there is still clothes waiting, haunting her at their house. Just like the ones already washed and folded, waiting in the drawers of our nursery.
My dad and I have a close relationship. He was a very hand's on dad growing up. My mom often worked weekends, so he had the kids alone. I think we visited every single playground in the city during those years. I often reminisce about the LONG bike rides he made us take, but they ended with ice cream slurpee's, so we only complained a little bit. Those bike rides as kids changed to driving us to endless sleep overs in junior high, and growing up in the country, the houses are far to drive to! Then the driving got longer, as he became the only dad to attend ALL the cheerleading weekend trips. He even made it to the one that was a plane ride away. He found my dream car, a '57 red belair and surprised me at my wedding with it, just to borrow! And then I moved to another country.
As a parent myself, and having been hospitalized on both sides of that boarder, away from family in a time of need, I know that distance. It is 2,052 KM/1275 miles away. But it might as well be around the world and back. My mom somehow made it to Las Vegas in 9 short hours when everything happened. And it wasn't until my Dad visited 3 weeks later, to help me in recovery, that I found out why he didn't come that day too. He was camping with my nephew, and he was out of cell service.
He drove into a new area and started receiving all the missed calls. I know what its like to see those missed calls piled up on your phone. The sick feeling calling them back, knowing that you don't want to know whats on the other side. My husband wrote a scene for a horror movie based on the call I received the morning I found out about Kimmy. This was one of those calls, but for your own kid. I am grieving the loss of a child, and my parents are grieving her too, but also seeing their own child hurt, and knowing how close I myself came to dying. As my dad said through his own tears, "too close."
So I try to answer their calls. Not all of them yet. Sometimes I still don't trust my voice, cracked with emotion, because I know it hurts them too. But I have always enjoyed the long life talks with my dad. We can cover a range of topics, from the kids latest throw up incident, to ted talks. Life keeps moving, so there is always something to talk about. I can't tell you what we talked about because my memory doesn't last right now. There is no room for it when my brain only wants to replay May 20 on a loop. But we talked for awhile. And it seemed normal, in this mess of life. It felt normal for a daughter to talk to her dad on the phone, about nothing, about everything.
After 30 years there is no one who knows you better than your mom and dad.
I was Daddy's little girl growing up.
I danced with my dad to "My little girl," at my wedding.
I will always be a daughter.
I wish brandon got to be a dad to his daughter.
with love, lissa