16 May 2013

suddenly

I am drained. Everything was going fine, then yesterday morning I got a phone call from my dad. He never calls in the morning, so I knew something must be wrong. Then he hit me with the worst news: His long-time girlfriend had a brain aneurysm. She had a headache and went to lie down, and in the snap of a finger she was gone. They took her off life support after a second opinion confirmed that there was no brain activity, and she died shortly afterwards.

I just can't even. No warning. One minute they were hanging out on the porch joking around, the next she was gone. It's like their lives together came to a screeching halt, hit a brick wall. She's not ever coming back and there was absolutely no warning.

I'm very sad that she's gone. I liked her. She was a nice lady and she made my dad happy. I just can't wrap my head around the idea that she's dead and that my dad feels something horrible beyond words.

Naturally, he's devastated but trying to hold it together. It tears me apart hearing his tone, the pain in his voice. Can you imagine the panic, the desperation that he felt when he couldn't wake her up, or when the doctor told him the news, or when he left her side in the hospital, knowing he would never look at her again?

I've never heard him sound this way before, not even when Grandpa died. Every instinct I have tells me to run to him and give him a hug. I can't stand that we live so far apart.

I've been crabby and distracted since I got the news and I just won't feel right until I can see him. He said it makes him feel better to know that Ashley and I are going to come visit- I have the urge to drop everything and fly out there asap and do everything I can to make him feel better. But I have responsibilities and he wants us to wait a few days until he gets everything taken care of. My heart hurts so bad for him.

This is my favorite picture of them, taken 6 years ago during one of our visits. They look so happy. That was a really fun trip. Now these memories are suddenly bittersweet.


Rest in Peace, Susan.

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