The day my Daddy died started out like any weekend. One of my good friends from out of town came to visit and we spent the day having a great time. That evening we decided to watch a movie. As we were watching, my phone rang and I ignored it. It was my mom. I made a mental note to call her back later. Then my husband’s phone rang. As white as a sheet, he walked down the hall toward where we were sitting in the living room. He said, “That was your mom. She said your dad is gone.” All I could think of was gone where? He left Oklahoma? It took a minute for his words to register. I asked him something like, “He’s dead?” My husband nodded. He explained that my mom had tried to call my dad several times that day and had left several messages because he never picked up. The last time she called Daddy's phone that evening a man answered and said that Daddy was dead. This man, we later found ou,t was LaRoy.
None of that made any sense. I called my mom back and, through tears, she explained that a man said he found Daddy dead in his apartment. I have to be honest, I didn’t believe it. I was so angry that my Dad would pull this. Who does something like this? Who has someone say you’re dead? I called my Dad’s cell phone ready to rant and rave, but sure enough a man picked up. He stated that my dad had been in bad shape for a few days and he had been checking on him. He had gone to check on him earlier that evening. He said he wasn’t feeling well and was lying on the couch, so he went back to his apartment to watch football. When he came back to check on him, Daddy was dead. LaRoy then proceeded to call my aunt and eventually the police got involved. The weird thing is, I was still mad. I still didn’t believe him. This man didn’t sound upset or even bothered by the fact that he had just found someone dead. Even if you didn’t know someone, wouldn’t most people be shaken at least a little to find someone in that state? Wouldn’t you at least show some feeling to a family member to whom you had to break the news?
LaRoy asked if I wanted to speak to an officer and I said yes. The officer confirmed what I didn’t want to believe. I didn’t know what to say. I have to be honest; I don’t even remember what I said. I have no idea how the rest of the conversation went. I called my sister and by this time, she already knew. I don’t remember that conversation either. I then called my aunt who lives near me. I couldn’t tell you what was said during that conversation either. I went numb. I somehow in my heart of hearts wasn’t surprised. I had told him just a few months before that if he didn’t stop what he was doing it would kill him. I told him that one of us would get a phone call saying he had drunk himself to death. And it was happening. I cried a little. It came in waves. I would cry for a few minutes, then be totally fine. I remember sitting on the couch with my friend and my husband talking, not hearing what I was saying and thinking, “Why am I not sobbing? My Daddy just died. I will never see him again.”
The shock and numbness lasted for several days until I had the task of calling all the places you have to call when someone passes away like Social Security, etc. After the third time you have to explain again to another stranger on the phone that your dad is deceased, it starts to sink in. I hated those phone calls. I would have to talk to at least four people at every place I called and I remember feeling overwhelming anger at them because none of them seem to care that my Daddy, who always talked about eating “good vittles,” and had a beautiful head of white hair, was gone. The anger would pass after I got off the phone and the sadness would become overwhelming. Those phone calls were nothing like what my sister was facing those few days at my Dad’s apartment in Oklahoma. The guilt of not being there to help her was almost as overwhelming as the sadness. I felt like I was letting her down. I know she would swear up and down that that is not the case, but I felt horrible.
In the few days that followed, I had to go back to work and continue with my daily routine. I work with some very caring people who kindly expressed their sympathies. I was still pretty new though, and not many knew of my background. The hardest question was when someone asked how he died and if it was expected. How do you answer that? Better yet, how do you answer that question truthfully and not wonder if they think he deserved it because he couldn’t stay sober- just another deadbeat dad, you know? I gave general answers. There were a few people I was closer to who knew more of the story and were very kind. The school included me with other staff members who had lost loved ones at the end of the year in giving us a rose bush to plant in memory of our family member who had passed away. It was one of the sweetest gestures and it meant so very much to me. That rose bush and a couple of cards from some very precious people were the only gestures of that nature that I received- and I was touched and grateful for each one. They truly helped in the days and months following.
None of that made any sense. I called my mom back and, through tears, she explained that a man said he found Daddy dead in his apartment. I have to be honest, I didn’t believe it. I was so angry that my Dad would pull this. Who does something like this? Who has someone say you’re dead? I called my Dad’s cell phone ready to rant and rave, but sure enough a man picked up. He stated that my dad had been in bad shape for a few days and he had been checking on him. He had gone to check on him earlier that evening. He said he wasn’t feeling well and was lying on the couch, so he went back to his apartment to watch football. When he came back to check on him, Daddy was dead. LaRoy then proceeded to call my aunt and eventually the police got involved. The weird thing is, I was still mad. I still didn’t believe him. This man didn’t sound upset or even bothered by the fact that he had just found someone dead. Even if you didn’t know someone, wouldn’t most people be shaken at least a little to find someone in that state? Wouldn’t you at least show some feeling to a family member to whom you had to break the news?
LaRoy asked if I wanted to speak to an officer and I said yes. The officer confirmed what I didn’t want to believe. I didn’t know what to say. I have to be honest; I don’t even remember what I said. I have no idea how the rest of the conversation went. I called my sister and by this time, she already knew. I don’t remember that conversation either. I then called my aunt who lives near me. I couldn’t tell you what was said during that conversation either. I went numb. I somehow in my heart of hearts wasn’t surprised. I had told him just a few months before that if he didn’t stop what he was doing it would kill him. I told him that one of us would get a phone call saying he had drunk himself to death. And it was happening. I cried a little. It came in waves. I would cry for a few minutes, then be totally fine. I remember sitting on the couch with my friend and my husband talking, not hearing what I was saying and thinking, “Why am I not sobbing? My Daddy just died. I will never see him again.”
The shock and numbness lasted for several days until I had the task of calling all the places you have to call when someone passes away like Social Security, etc. After the third time you have to explain again to another stranger on the phone that your dad is deceased, it starts to sink in. I hated those phone calls. I would have to talk to at least four people at every place I called and I remember feeling overwhelming anger at them because none of them seem to care that my Daddy, who always talked about eating “good vittles,” and had a beautiful head of white hair, was gone. The anger would pass after I got off the phone and the sadness would become overwhelming. Those phone calls were nothing like what my sister was facing those few days at my Dad’s apartment in Oklahoma. The guilt of not being there to help her was almost as overwhelming as the sadness. I felt like I was letting her down. I know she would swear up and down that that is not the case, but I felt horrible.
In the few days that followed, I had to go back to work and continue with my daily routine. I work with some very caring people who kindly expressed their sympathies. I was still pretty new though, and not many knew of my background. The hardest question was when someone asked how he died and if it was expected. How do you answer that? Better yet, how do you answer that question truthfully and not wonder if they think he deserved it because he couldn’t stay sober- just another deadbeat dad, you know? I gave general answers. There were a few people I was closer to who knew more of the story and were very kind. The school included me with other staff members who had lost loved ones at the end of the year in giving us a rose bush to plant in memory of our family member who had passed away. It was one of the sweetest gestures and it meant so very much to me. That rose bush and a couple of cards from some very precious people were the only gestures of that nature that I received- and I was touched and grateful for each one. They truly helped in the days and months following.