and - just like that - my family is incomplete once more...

I have obviously not been posting anything this summer, and for the most part, that has been due to our newest little family member keeping me busy, busy, busy. But for the past month, that has not been the only reason I've been quiet on here.

Just when our family had finally become complete with the arrival of baby Luciana, and just as I was getting settled into the new way of things with her, and enjoying the summer with her and Super Boy, terrible tragedy struck.

On the afternoon of August 8th, I received a phone call I never, ever wanted to get from my stepmom, saying that my dad had been in a motorcycle accident earlier in the afternoon and did not survive. My dad was gone.

Hearing those words was surreal. Unless and until you've heard them yourself, you cannot fathom the soul-searing grief that comes with them. In fact, there's those few moments right after those words curl up in your ears when you can't quite comprehend them, when your brain hasn't quite caught up with them yet. I had to ask my stepmom to repeat them at first because it didn't seem possible that she had really said what I heard.

I happened to be nursing the baby when the call came. I was sitting up in the baby's room, in the rocking chair, quietly feeding the baby and enjoying a restful moment. The phone rang; I could hear it, but the upstairs cordless was in my bedroom. I heard Super Boy answer it downstairs, and heard him coming up the stairs to bring the phone to me. He said, "Mom, it's Grandma R." Upon hearing it was her, I chuckled, because we had just emailed that morning and I told her to let Dad know I was going to call him that afternoon. In fact, the baby was falling asleep while I was feeding her, so I had planned to lay her down and then call him. When I took the phone, I greeted her the way I always did: "Hey, Bud! What's up?"

I don't know how she got the words out, I really don't. In the deepest depths of her own shock and despair, she had to call me, my older sister and my younger brother to tell us the horrible news that our dad was dead. I give her a ton of credit for finding the strength in those moments to make those phone calls; I don't know if I could have done it had it been me.

When it finally hit me what she was saying, that my dad was gone, I instantly felt like I wanted to get as far out of my own skin as I possible could, as far away from that moment, that news, as possible. My mind whirled and raced, making no sense whatsoever. I couldn't breathe. I didn't know what to say. Keening wails rose from my toes, out of nowhere, and wouldn't stop.

My dad was gone.

My stepmom kept telling me how sorry she was, and finally something brought me back into my right mind again so I could tell her how sorry I was for her, too, to lose her husband. As enormous a hole as losing my dad was leaving in me, I knew it was just as bad if not worse for her, losing her partner in life, the person she had planned to grow old with. My dad was only 62; far too young to be gone, or to leave my stepmom a widow.

I asked her what happened. She was still in such shock herself that she couldn't remember everything the sheriff's deputy had told her at the hospital, but she told me what she did recall.

My dad had been riding his motorcycle just outside of the small town in northern Wisconsin where they lived, on a two-lane highway, and the person driving the vehicle ahead of him had stopped to wait for traffic to clear from the north so she could turn left. Rosie didn't know whether the driver stopped at the last second or my dad hadn't been paying attention, but either way, my dad didn't have enough time to react safely. God bless my dad, he must have realized he couldn't brake fast enough, so instead, he tried to lay his Harley down, knowing he'd be injured to some extent but he'd be sparing whoever was in the vehicle ahead. Unfortunately, he hadn't worn his helmet that day. But the sheriff's deputy told my stepmom that he was unresponsive when authorities got to the scene and he died quickly.

What has haunted me since receiving that phone call, what has kept me awake at night, is wondering what his final moments felt like for him. Did he know he was probably going to die? Did he feel any of what happened between when he decided to lay the bike down and when he actually drew his last breath? What did he think of as it was happening? Did he know how much we all loved him?

Nothing can prepare a person for such a sudden loss, much less one so traumatic. Especially when one thinks one has at least another 20 years with their loved one, as I did.

Tomorrow will be one month since my dad died. Intellectually, I know he's gone. Emotionally, I still cannot believe it. It just doesn't make sense. It's not right. He should still be here. I need him; we all need him. Nothing else has changed except that he is not where he is supposed to be, and never will be again.

I dream of him. In the dreams, he is alive at first, and I am so happy to see him, but then I remember that I'm not supposed to be able to see him because he's really not alive anymore. And my heart aches, and I wake up in tears.



I miss my dad. I miss him so much, it hurts. I want to hear his voice, to get one of his great dad hugs. To tell him how much I love him and how proud I have been to be his daughter. He wasn't a perfect man, and he often drove me nuts, but he was my dad. And he was a good dad.

I love you so much, Pappy. I will miss you every moment of every day for the rest of my life. Wherever you are, I hope you know that. Thank you, for everything.



SW