ollibear

Thanks, Tiana

I got a call at 7 a.m. to tell me that my 8:40 a.m. doctor's appointment had to be rescheduled because my new doctor had a family emergency.

I couldn't get anything for today, and I tried. I begged the person scheduling the appointments.

The best I could do is to go to a different office to see a different doctor on Wednesday at 8:30 a.m. (I could have seen the doctor I originally scheduled on Friday, but I don't want to wait that long. I've never met either doctor, so I don't see changing doctors matters much.)

I will have to take a day off work now. That's a bummer. I don't want to blow through all of my sick days, especially if I may need surgery.

Today is President's Day, so we didn't have any school. It was the perfect day to go to the doctor. But today is also the 40th anniversary of the day my dad died. So maybe it is better that I didn't go to the doctor today. He died when he was 49, and I am 49 this year.

Somehow that feels important.

Even though I was only nine years old, I remember details from that weekend so clearly. I was playing the game of Life on the living room floor with my friend Karen. My dad always gave me a hug and a kiss goodbye, whenever he left for work. On that day, he stepped over our board game, and he was carrying a bowl of water outside for our dog. Otherwise, I would have jumped up to hug him.

I thought he would be right back, but he took out the water and went on to work. Later, my mom told me that he had not been feeling well.

A few hours after that, my mom and I were back in my bedroom cleaning up together, when we heard this furious knocking at the door. It was my aunt. She told us that Daddy had collapsed at work and an ambulance was taking him to the hospital. My mom grabbed her purse and flew across the street to where my dad worked. My mom rode in the ambulance with my dad, and my aunt and uncle followed behind in their car with me.

My dad had a heart attack. The doctors were going to put in a pacemaker, so my aunt and uncle took me back to their house. I was trying to sleep on their couch. I remember the phone ringing around 4 a.m., and in another room, my uncle said to someone, "We lost a good man." I knew then that my dad was dead. I walked upstairs to the attic bedroom to talk to my cousin Debbie. She was 15 at the time. As I was making my way upstairs, I heard my aunt on the intercom say, "She doesn't know."

As soon as I got upstairs, I told Debbie that I knew. I couldn't cry though, not until my sister arrived. (My sister is 17 years older than me.) As soon as she arrived with my nephew, who was six years old at the time, the three of us sat on this little twin bed and cried and cried together for what seemed like forever. Then, my mom arrived, and she acted like a robot. I wanted to feel close to her, and she had turned off all of her emotions. I remember telling her that I wanted to see Daddy, and she wrote it down in this little notebook, as if it was just another task to check off a list.

I understand now, but at the time, I didn't.

It rained and rained that day, February 20, 1977. When we finally returned home Sunday night, my thermos in my lunch box had molded. We cleaned it, and I remember going to bed in between my mom and my sister. I cried and kicked the mattress, until I fell asleep.

The next day, I didn't go to school, but that afternoon, on the news, we learned that there had been a horrible explosion at my school. A student had brought a Civil War grenade into the shop class and began drilling on it. One eighth grade student, his little brother had been in my fourth grade classroom that year, died. Other students lost limbs. One student lost an eye. It was awful. Everyone said that the entire school building shook, when the grenade exploded. I missed a week of school. Both Kelly (the fourth grade boy who had lost his brother) and I returned to the classroom on the following Monday. I remember that our teacher had sent flowers to both of us at our homes.

From what I understand, my school was never really the same after that. I didn't stay past the beginning of June. My mom could not afford to send me to a private school anymore. A lot of students left after that year. I still have a picture of me with my fourth grade teacher, Ms. Smith. I am wearing a pale blue butterfly dress, with ribbons in my hair, white knee socks, and Mary Janes. I had just joined my fourth grade classmates for the annual Maypole Dance on May Day. It was a big celebration at my school. Each grade level had their own performance, and every year, the fourth graders danced the Maypole. It was a rite of passage.

That summer, my mom and I moved to an apartment two doors down from my sister and her husband. It was nearly an hour away from where we used to live. The public schools were good, and I was happy in fifth grade, all the way through my senior year of high school.

It's odd how your whole life can change in one day, though.

Aw, this makes me feel so good, Paula. Thank you!

I am going to try to post more tonight!