The phone rings. It’s Ariana. “What do you want? What’s going on?”
“We need you to wake up your roommate and then Skype us.”
“Why?”
“I know you hate Skype. Just do it, ok?” There must be something in my voice because she doesn’t protest, and it’s way too early for her to be cooperative. It’s nowhere near noon.
But of course she doesn’t wake her roommate. She takes her laptop into the lounge and Skypes in. She’s totally alone, far from home, a freshman getting ready to face her first finals, and we have to tell her that her father’s dead. In the few seconds after I tell her that her father had a heart attack and has died, I can see life step out of her. It’s as though everything has been put on pause for just a few brief moments. Then . . .
“What? No!”
That’s exactly the reaction we all have to the news. "You're kidding me," a pastor friend says, his equivalent of "What?" This just can't be true. Over and over I hear this as I spend the rest of the day notifying everyone. “What? No!”
By now Ariana has an hour to get to the airport. By the time she gets back to her room, her roommate, a gift from God, is up and helps her pack. Security shows up to tell her what she already knows but can’t yet comprehend.
Ariana calls from the airport. She’s made the flight. But then she has a three-hour layover before catching the plane to us. She hasn’t had time to digest what’s happening, and about the time it hits her she’ll be in a strange airport . . . all alone . . . for three hours. Is she strong enough to do this? Is anyone?
Being a mother is the hardest thing in the world. But this was the worst day of motherhood even though both of my daughters are now technically adults. When it comes to losing your Daddy, no one’s an adult regardless of what age they are. And my girls are still young. Too young.
Having to watch each of them wrestle with the grief of losing their beloved father just about killed me. I wanted to protect them, but I couldn’t. In my own grief, I probably added to theirs instead of helping it.
After making sure Ariana was on her way, Recrimination took up residence with a messy bag of Cheetos on the sofa in my head and glared at my every move. He put his feet up on the coffee table and wiped the cheesy doodle dust on his fingers off on my nice floral silk pillows.
It was sometime in here that I began pacing the hotel room disconsolate, talking incoherently. “I killed him. I was always asking too much of him. He was upset over a fight we’d had in the car coming up. I don’t even know what it was about now. Just something I’d been trying to get resolved for years, but he always heard it as judgment and got defensive, caring more about his own image being tarnished than he did the pain I was in. And I didn’t want to let it go this time. He wanted to make up at bedtime, and I turned my back on him instead. I killed him. The stress of being married to me killed him.”
Barbara, a beige blob of her own shocked speechless grief, sat stunned and still on the sofa.
Thank God housekeeping called. Our new room was ready. And we were ready to go.
“We need you to wake up your roommate and then Skype us.”
“Why?”
“I know you hate Skype. Just do it, ok?” There must be something in my voice because she doesn’t protest, and it’s way too early for her to be cooperative. It’s nowhere near noon.
But of course she doesn’t wake her roommate. She takes her laptop into the lounge and Skypes in. She’s totally alone, far from home, a freshman getting ready to face her first finals, and we have to tell her that her father’s dead. In the few seconds after I tell her that her father had a heart attack and has died, I can see life step out of her. It’s as though everything has been put on pause for just a few brief moments. Then . . .
“What? No!”
That’s exactly the reaction we all have to the news. "You're kidding me," a pastor friend says, his equivalent of "What?" This just can't be true. Over and over I hear this as I spend the rest of the day notifying everyone. “What? No!”
By now Ariana has an hour to get to the airport. By the time she gets back to her room, her roommate, a gift from God, is up and helps her pack. Security shows up to tell her what she already knows but can’t yet comprehend.
Ariana calls from the airport. She’s made the flight. But then she has a three-hour layover before catching the plane to us. She hasn’t had time to digest what’s happening, and about the time it hits her she’ll be in a strange airport . . . all alone . . . for three hours. Is she strong enough to do this? Is anyone?
Being a mother is the hardest thing in the world. But this was the worst day of motherhood even though both of my daughters are now technically adults. When it comes to losing your Daddy, no one’s an adult regardless of what age they are. And my girls are still young. Too young.
Having to watch each of them wrestle with the grief of losing their beloved father just about killed me. I wanted to protect them, but I couldn’t. In my own grief, I probably added to theirs instead of helping it.
After making sure Ariana was on her way, Recrimination took up residence with a messy bag of Cheetos on the sofa in my head and glared at my every move. He put his feet up on the coffee table and wiped the cheesy doodle dust on his fingers off on my nice floral silk pillows.
It was sometime in here that I began pacing the hotel room disconsolate, talking incoherently. “I killed him. I was always asking too much of him. He was upset over a fight we’d had in the car coming up. I don’t even know what it was about now. Just something I’d been trying to get resolved for years, but he always heard it as judgment and got defensive, caring more about his own image being tarnished than he did the pain I was in. And I didn’t want to let it go this time. He wanted to make up at bedtime, and I turned my back on him instead. I killed him. The stress of being married to me killed him.”
Barbara, a beige blob of her own shocked speechless grief, sat stunned and still on the sofa.
Thank God housekeeping called. Our new room was ready. And we were ready to go.
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