Everywhere and Nowhere

Dear Dad,

You died a year ago today.

The foggy recollection that this is no longer an approaching inevitability, but rather a fact that I need to accept is mind-numbingly painful.

I still try to remember that day, the day you left us. Sometimes the memories seem hazy, but other times I see it in a monotonous pattern constantly on replay.

A year ago it was sunny and unnaturally warm for the first day of December. It was a Sunday and I had come home straight after my weekend job at the little mom-and-pop café. When I got home you were dressed to do yard work.

“How was work?” You asked.

“Fine. Kind of a slow day, actually,” I replied.

You smiled and gave me a hug. I was glad to be home. I had a test in Physics that coming Thursday and wanted to study as much as I could.

Mom was cleaning the kitchen, preparing for dinner. You said that you wanted something spicy to eat. We planned on watching Masterpiece Theatre that night.

“Are you going outside to work?” I asked you.

“I’m going to go cut down some of those cedars,” You said.

I nodded nonchalantly and you smiled down at me. You were in one of those odd cheery moods, probably because it was so nice out.

It was always your hobby to fix things. When the burn ban warning was issued you seemed worried that if one of the cedars caught fire we’d lose the land and the house. What you didn’t know that day was a fire was coming to tear down everything that we held so dear, just probably not in the way you thought.

“I love you,” I said, making a goofy face at you. It wasn’t in your nature to be overly affectionate, so I didn’t expect a reply.

“I love you too,” You said with an equally goofy smile. I was astonished.

Did you know those would be your last words to me? Had you seen it coming? Was it painful when you died?

It was around 4 in the afternoon when I saw Mom come screaming out of the woods. She went outside because the smell of the cleaning sprays had bothered her. She heard your chainsaw idling. 

She found you.

When I saw her I couldn’t fathom what was about to come next. I remember feeling confused. Never did it cross my mind that you were gone. 

Mom threw open the front door hurriedly reaching for the phone. She was hysterical.

“Mom? What’s wrong?”

“Hurry… hurry and call the police… we don’t have a lot of time,” Mom said thrusting the phone into my hands and rushing back out, leaving the door gaping open.

I ran after her. I couldn’t feel my feet. I couldn’t feel the bruises and scratches and stickers that were lodging into my skin. I didn’t realize until after that I left my shoes.

From here it gets foggy, but I do have bits and pieces of memory.

I remember the operator on the phone asking me to describe what I saw. I remember sobbing. I remember seeing the tree on top of you. I remember Mom trying desperately to pull it off. It was too big. I fought every instinct to drop the phone and help her.

Your face was purple. Your hands were warm. I remember grabbing your wrist, feeling for a pulse. I remember trying to convince myself as the achingly slow seconds ticked by that I felt something… that you were still there.

Mom told me to lead the firefighters and paramedics down our driveway since the house couldn’t be seen from the road.  You had always loved how secluded the house was.

I ran to the entrance as fast as I could. I remember sobbing the whole way. I cried as each car flew down the driveway to race to your rescue. I remember the last of the paramedics picking me up at the top of the driveway. They asked me what was going on. I couldn’t speak.

Some of them ran to you as fast as they could. Some of them walked towards were you were. This angered me. Why were they walking? Didn’t they know you needed help?

Mom asked the firefighters to help her pull the cedar off of you. They told her they couldn’t, that the tree was too big and that they needed to cut it off of you.

I fell to my knees asking God for help. From there I blacked out. A couple of the officers and paramedics came to me. They were talking to me but every word fell on deaf ears.

Searching for logic somewhere in my brain, I knew this was real. I knew that when your body was carried away in the dark blue body bag that it was real. I knew when people started showing up to the house that it was real. 

I knew that sleeping a whole week straight, going in and out of consciousness that it was real. I knew that hearing voices I couldn’t recognize saying things like “I can’t believe it” or “This is just dreadful” that it was real.

Mom still cries every day.  I know you would want us to be okay. I know you would want us to try and be happy, but we miss you too much.

This house feels like our coffin. You are everywhere in this fixer-upper, from the floors you put in to the paint you picked out.

You are everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Written: 12.1.14