5 Years

Grandma Hope's death comes at an interesting time. There are some really good things about the way that the timing has worked out for our family. But a hard aspect of it is that the 5th anniversary of my dad's death is tomorrow. For the most part, the actual date of Dad's death has become less significant the further away from it I get. But it isn't emotionally easy dealing with another death during this time of remembering, especially since there are some similarities regarding the events of the week. For example, Grandma's body is being handled by the same mortuary that handled dad's. We sat in that mortuary as we planned dad's funeral. It was where his viewing was (which I didn't attend). I've even had nightmares about being in that room. It is such an emotionally raw place. And if I decide to go there this week, I'm not really sure what my response is going to be.

I've also been asked to help carry the casket at Grandma's burial. I carried the casket at dad's burial too. I like doing it. It feels like a good way to honor someone, to carry their body to where they will be buried. I remember when we carried my dad's casket, my brother looked at my sister and I and said, "This is for all the times he carried us." Memories of him tossing me up the in the air or carrying me up the stairs as a sleeping little girl flashed through my head. It feels like a proper tribute to carry someone who has carried you in so many ways. And Grandma is no exception. She babysat me when I was little, supported me in all of my sports and plays, and was always was sending money to Bryce and I just because. So carrying her casket, as soul-wrenching as that is, is a privilege. But it will bring back painful memories of my dad's death none the less.

I can think back to exactly what I was doing at this time (11:31 PM) 5 years ago. I had gone over to my friend's house and sat around a fire pit with my best girlfriends at the time talking about all of the crazy drama that was happening with our friends recently. We had been one big group of friends that had just started fighting and splitting apart. I remember being so preoccupied with the whole situation that I couldn't fall asleep when I got home. I eventually gave up on sleeping and picked up where I left off in, "Searching for God Knows What" by Donald Miller. I read something that really got me thinking, so at 4 AM I started to go downstairs to write on my old blog. My bedroom door was as squeaky as can be, and woke my dad up. He stopped me at the top of the stairs and asked me if everything was ok in a manner that implied, "If you need to talk about anything, I will stay awake and listen." I told him I was fine, just couldn't sleep and wanted to do some writing.

I went downstairs and typed out a blog post. It took awhile because I wanted to say everything just right. The sun started to come up, and I finally decided to try to go to sleep again. As I shut down the computer, my dad came downstairs. He had just woken up and started to get ready for work.

He said, "Em, you are still up?" 

I rambled off some excuse about why I stayed up all night on a school night. 

He said, "Are you sure everything is ok?"

"Yeah I am fine. I just had a lot on my mind, but I'm doing better now that I wrote it all out. I'm going to try to catch an hour of sleep before school."

And I gave him a hug. 

And that was the last time I ever saw him.

It feels like a life time ago, but I remember like it was last week. The memories are painful, but precious. There isn't a word to describe how thankful I am to have a dad who left me with a final memory of him waking up in the early morning hours just to be there for me.