Missing Dad

Five years ago today, I was a widowed dad in his mid-30s, trying to raise a couple kids while half in shock and half bracing for my dad's own cancer crisis.  Five years ago today, we adopted our dog Wiley.  That very afternoon, I called my dad in the hospital to let him know we had a new family member of the four-legged variety.  He didn't have his speech capabilities back after the third emergency brain surgery and could only cry into the phone, happy in the knowledge that we were protected and loved.

Five years ago today, mere hours after my phone call to him, I got the call from the hospital that he had suffered a pulmonary embolism and that the crash team was working on him.  Five years ago today, I lost my dad.  It was the second barrel in the shotgun of loss, barely one month after losing Samantha.

Although I'm well down the road life has set before me, I still remember that time.  Whereas many of my memories are clear and vivid, everything from that time is tinged with fog, like an old photograph.  As if it were not quite real.  Makes sense, really.  Who would want it to be?

Love you, Pop.  Always.