In my several months of blogging, I’ve rarely (read: once) written about serious subject matter. I’m aware that people come here in hopes of reading something that will cause them to spew Mountain Dew from their nostrils or urinate on themselves. If I can provide either of these things, then I have succeeded…in blogging, in life, and in general. I pride myself on controlling other people’s bodily functions.
However, with Father’s Day commercials taking over the airwaves, it’s put me in sort of a funk, and I’ve decided to write about it. This isn’t my style, but you know how us writers are. We have to write what we feel, and I’m just not in a very funny mood.
I don’t like seriousness or sadness because I associate those things with pity. Pity to me is a pitiable thing. So, with this post, I’m not asking for pity, I just feel like getting all of this out.
So, here begins my “tears of a clown” post. For those of you that are going to stick with me on this post and finish it to the end, I thank you for patiently reading my story.
My life was forever changed on Sunday, November 22, 1992. I was 11 years old.
My mother was the pianist at our church, and although I wasn’t feeling so great that Sunday morning, she had to go to church, and I stayed home. I was lying on my stomach on the twin bed in our guest bedroom and ironically enough, I was watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” on channel 24. I know it was channel 24 because the picture had a weird fuzzy tint to it.
My daddy didn’t go to church on Sunday. My daddy played golf on Sunday. Actually, my daddy played golf everyday, but he was always up bright and early and on the golf course before my mama and I made it to church.
That Sunday was no different. Daddy had been playing golf that morning when I heard him coming in the kitchen door. He passed the guest room where I was watching George Bailey and stumbled into my bedroom at the end of the hall. He never said anything to me, so I got up to see what was going on, and there he was, lying on his stomach on my bed, moaning in pain.
I called out to him several times, and he never replied. He got up from my bed, gripping his chest, anguish on his face, and then he collapsed beside me on that stupid blue carpet in the hallway. Damn that stupid blue carpet.
I remembered the old folks at church describing a heart attack like “an elephant sitting on your chest.” I knew this had to be the problem, but it just didn’t seem right. My father was in his early forties, tall and skinny as a rail, and heart attacks were for grandfathers and people who ate meat for dessert. It just couldn’t be a heart attack.
When my father fell to the floor, my puppy (a Lhasa Apso named Peaches that I had until I was 25. That’s a totally different sad story), snuggled beside him, and I rushed to call 911. I told them my daddy was sick, and then I called the church and left a message with some lady that my mother needed to come home immediately.
I looked at my dog lying with my father, and she knew. I knew, too, but I just couldn’t accept it yet.
I picked Peaches up and ran outside. I don’t know why, but I felt like I needed to get away. We sat inside my daddy’s truck in the driveway, next to his golf clubs, his crumpled pack of cigarettes, his Beatles cassette tapes, and we waited on the ambulance.
Instead of running away, I now wish that I had gotten down on the floor with my dog and my dad, held his hand, and told him a million different things.
The ambulance arrived, followed by my mother and her best friend, and soon paramedics were wheeling my father out of our living room on a stretcher. My mother’s best friend stayed behind with me.
I don’t remember what we did while waiting there. I kept hoping my mom would call and say it was just indigestion, a gallbladder attack, something mundane. I was waiting for my daddy to walk through the front door and say, “Sorry for scaring you, kiddo.”
Instead, an EMT walked through my front door, without knocking. I remember this man, tall and heavy and bald, dressed in his navy paramedic uniform, waltzing through my front door and telling my mother’s friend that he was back to get the resuscitating equipment that was scattered around in the hallway. My mom’s friend asked how my daddy was doing.
As casually as saying, “Today is Sunday”, the bald man replied, “He didn’t make it.”
Did that man, whose face I can still see so clearly, realize that he was the one to break the news that would devastate an 11 year old girl and completely change her world, her life? I doubt it.
I turned and ran to my bedroom. I called my best friend, and I sobbed into the phone, “My daddy is dead.”
I don’t remember anything else about that day, except watching “Sister Act” in a daze, while friends and family sobbed around me. To this day, I hate Whoopi Goldberg and that stupid movie.
Before my mother married my father in 1979, she was married to Mr. Charles. Mr. Charles was my brother and sister’s father. He was actually friends with my daddy, he and my mother remained friends after their divorce, and I was always around him because he was my sibling’s dad.
After my father was put in the ground, I remember standing in my driveway, in a stupid black velveteen looking dress, and Mr. Charles wrapped his arms around me. I buried my head in the pocket of his black coat, and I cried. Neither one of us said anything, but I will always remember that moment as if it was confirmed that he would be my father figure for the rest of his life.
He couldn’t replace my daddy, no, but at that moment he became my godfather, and he lived up to the title more than I could have ever hoped. He gave me away at my wedding, he was there when my children were born, he loved me like I was his own. We would talk on the phone for hours, and I would laugh at stories about he and my mother in high school, stories about he and my daddy, stories about some crazy midget western that always came on Turner Classic Movies.
On September 12, 2011, my sister sent me a text asking if I had talked to her dad that day. My brother sent me a text asking the same. My mother called me, too. We all tried calling Mr. Charles’ house, but got nothing but an answering machine.
A little while later, I kept expecting that phone call from him that said, “I fell asleep in my recliner watching TCM. Sorry for scaring you, kiddo.” Instead, my mother called and sobbed into the phone, “He’s gone, baby. Mr. Charles is gone.”
Cruel heart attack had struck again.
I was in such shock that I hung up on my mother and raced for the stairway. I remember which step I was on when I lost it and tears poured from my eyes, my stomach felt sick, and my head was spinning. I ran to my husband’s office upstairs and fell into his lap, tears streaming, my fist beating his chest and shaking my head “no” because this couldn’t be true.
I wanted my mother’s arms. I frantically drove to her house so that I could feel her arms around me, the only place that could make me forget my grief, when I began to cry so hard that I could barely see the road. I told God that He could take me then. Of course, I was blinded by my sadness and not thinking clearly, but I remembered the depression and reality that hit me days after my daddy had died in 1992. I couldn’t bear to go through that again.
Mr. Charles had been my father since the day my father died. He was there at every holiday, birthday, cookout. He brought the ham, the steak, the chili. My heart would light up when he walked into my kitchen. I was in love with his funny stories, his funny laugh, his big hugs that pulled me close the way it did so many years before in my driveway on that cold, November day. Instead of burying my head in his coat pocket, my face would rest on his shoulder now, as he patted my back and kissed my cheek.
And after both of my fathers were in the ground, I came home and wrote a short story about them meeting again in Heaven. And I smiled. Here is a short snippet:
…and after the old man was reunited with his family and friends in Glory, he saw the girl’s real father, whom he hadn’t seen in nearly 20 years. The father ran to the old man down a street of gold, and he took him into his arms.
“I know what you’ve done. Thank you,” the father said.
On Earth, the people mourned the loss of two wonderful men. But, their loss was Heaven’s gain.
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| I added this for some comic relief, but I’m pretty sure MY two dads could have whipped these two guys’ asses. |
I think it’s admirable that you changed up your usual writing structure to express the beauty and the pain of your childhood.
I’m so sorry for the losses you have experienced. It’s not fair to lose two great men. But as you said, you were very blessed to know and love them both, and without a doubt they are in Heaven, looking down with pride, love, and a great many hopes for you.
Thanks for sharing. It was beautiful and made me weep.
Thanks so much for your kind comment.
Every single mom hopes that if she finds love, her children will also find a place in her new partners heart because it doesn’t always happen. How blessed you were to have Mr. Charles step up to take such an important role in your life. He must have been a very fine person indeed to have known.
He certainly was. Thank you.
Wow, that was beautifully written and such an amazing tribute to your two Dads.
Thanks so much for reading! 🙂
Oh my god I’m totally crying in the doctors office. I’m so glad you shared that because it’s a beautiful story but also helps me understand my best friends grief. I have my own parent grief too and these tears are cathartic.
I’m so sorry for the loss of both your fathers, and that you had to lose your father at such a young age. I can’t imagine. You did nothing wrong and running to the car is what you needed to do.
In stories we share we reach out to others and others fell less alone. So thank you.
Your comment made ME cry. Thanks bunches for your encouraging words. I’m glad to share my story when it helps others. 🙂
Oh man, that was grippingly intense. I feel saddened by your loss. I am coming to grips with a loss of my own late last week.
You’re so kicking my butt with this if you’re planning to enter yeah write.
WG
I’m so sorry you’re experiencing a loss right now, as well. I’ve not decided if I will link up this week, but maybe so. I’m still a bit uncomfortable with sharing anything “sad”.
Oh that was some powerful writing that you shared with us this week. I’m so sorry you had to experience such a loss as a child. Beautifully written. Truly.
Thanks so much, my friend.
beautiful and heartbreaking and intense. I am so sorry for the multiple losses. Such enormous loss is always difficult but at such a young age even more painful.
Thank you for reading and your comment.
I am so sorry for both your losses. I think they would both be proud to have helped your mom raise such a wonderful, intelligent, beautiful, funny and witty woman. Beautiful post. *hugs*
Oh, thanks so much, girl. Hugs right back.
Gripping story, Brown. I am very sorry for your loss, and glad you experienced such love from not one, but two fathers. Thanks for sharing it with us.
Thank you, thank you! 🙂
Sad, but also uplifting at the same time. To witness your father’s death at 11, wow, that’s truly terrible. But the best part of your story is that you had not one but two positive fathers that shaped your life. I’m happy for you in that regard. That is to be celebrated. That they left far too early.. that is sad.
Thanks for your sweet comment.
Aww, I’m so sorry for both of your losses. How upsetting.
Thanks.
what you’ve done here is not only to share the pain of loss, but you also brought all of us along into your love. what an amazing thing to share. even if it feels out of writing style for you, sharing your heart, funny or sad, will always ring true. this does just that.
Wow. What an amazing comment. Thank you.
Beautiful post. Your love pours through your words…they both sound like they were incredibly special men. Thank you for sharing them and this part of yourself with your readers.
Oh, thanks girl for always reading and commenting.
This was beautifully written. It brought me to tears a few times. I feel like I don’t have the words to say what my heart is feeling now, so a hug will have to do.
*hugs*
Thank you so much for this kind comment and the hugs. 🙂
I love that story. Thank you for sharing it with us. You were very lucky to hace two such wonderful dads and they were very lucky to have a girl who loves them both so very much. My mom lost her dad when she was 13 and I’ve heard all my life how profoundly that affected her. I still hear about it and she’s 60. I’m so sorry that happened for you.
Very lucky indeed. Thank you so much for reading.
This story was completely gripping for me from beginning to end. It’s not easy to make me cry, but I cried.
Aha! So I succeeded in controlling someone’s bodily functions with this post as well!?? Thank you so much, and sorry for the cry.
Oh wow. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you as a child. Some people think that death is easier for us to deal with as we get older, but I’m not so sure about that. Loss is loss and losing the people we love sucks. Thank you for sharing both of them with us. I will be thinking of you and praying for you this father’s day.
Thank you, my friend.
I can almost never write funny stuff and I admire anyone that can 🙂 …. I’m glad you switched it up for this though … this was very touching and very easy to relate to even though I haven’t lost a father … I admire your thankfulness for having two amazing men in your life!
Thanks so much!
I don’t exactly look forward to Father’s Day myself, but for much different reasons.
This was so eloquently written. Thank you for sharing your story.
I appreciate your comment. 🙂
Thank you for sharing this post.
And thank YOU for reading it!!
I lost my mother in my mid-30s and the pain has been excruciating ever since. I can’t fathom going through it at 11. You have tremendous strength and are fortunate to have been loved so dearly by 2 great men. Thank you for sharing your story with us.
I think the pain is horrid no matter the age. It hurt as much as 30 as it did at 11. Thanks for your comment!!
I’m sorry for your losses. Beautifully written. I love your funny writing, but your serious is great too.
Thanks for reading both 🙂
my heart hurts for you – i’m so sorry. it’s small consolation but i’m a snotty, picky reader and you’re one of the best writers/bloggers i’ve read. this is so beautifully written and brings such honor and light to their memories – i feel lucky to have read it. thank you.
I feel lucky for such a wonderful compliment from you!!! Thank you so much!!!
You had me from beginning to end. Thoroughly bittersweet. Love the fictional story of your father’s meeting up in heaven. Brilliant!
Thanks!!!
Wow, isn’t it just the irony of it all, that when you have that kind of love in your life, it opens you up for all kinds of pain? What a heaviness to look back at your 11 year old self and wish you had acted differently. This was just so moving and I’m sorry for your losses.
I had tears streaming down my face, but the audible sob came when I started your short story. That is my first with a blog post. You have some awesome range. Ellen
That is high praise coming from you, lady. Thank you so so much!!!
That was absolutely gorgeous and lush and straight-on fantastic. I’m impressed with your ability to tell this story so wholly and clearly. It’s heart-wrenching, and yet I feel like it’s incredibly comforting.
I appreciate that so much!
That was absolutely beautiful. Wonderfully written. I just wanted to go to you and hold you myself, and cry with you for my own daddy and for both of yours. I’m so glad you took the leap to not write funny.
Well-done and I’m very sorry for your loss.
I really love your writing, so thanks so much for the sweet words.
This was beautifully written. It had me in tears multiple times. Although you have had tremendous loss, you were so lucky to have known such love.
I kept being reminded of the country song I think called “He didn’t have to be.” It’s by Brad Paisley and it’s kind of like the father relationship you experienced. You might want to check it out.
That song means so much to me. I am very blessed to know such love. Thank you!
Girl, you amaze me. That was beautiful. I wish I could express my loss in words like that. I lost my daddy when I was 10 and I guess Bob is like my Mr Charles. Those little details of what you were watching, the blue carpet, all of it reminds me so much of the little things I remember about the day my daddy died. I will be thinking of you fathers day honey. I love you and miss you!! And I’m so proud of you and I know your sweet dads are too 🙂
Thank you sweet Alli. I know how much you’ve been through as well. Your strength is amazing. Thank you so much for reading. Love you.
So wildly powerful. Thank you. This is my first time here, to your blog, and personally I like honesty in whatever form it comes. Funny. Dark. How wonderful that we can duck into our small corners of this invisible and ineffable world and for one moment be real. This was real.
I also lost my dad. And it has changed me and shaped me in ways I can only begin to articulate. I write about him on my blog. I also write about silly things. I think we can do both. And, for what it’s worth, I think you should.
Thrilled to have found this place.
Amazing and beautifully written comment. Thank you.
Wow…Susannah. I lost my mother at age 7. she was only 37. and yes it was a stupid heart attack. it was almost like you were describing my situation.
Wow…Susannah. I lost my mother at age 7. she was only 37. and yes it was a stupid heart attack. it was almost like you were describing my situation.
Wow…Susannah. I lost my mother at age 7. she was only 37. and yes it was a stupid heart attack. it was almost like you were describing my situation.
I’m so sorry, Joe.
Your post actually made me cry. Sorry for your losses and I know that the pain is still there. You learn to live and function and find the joy and blessings in life, but like you said, there is forever a scar that will never go away. I lost my Dad when I was young too. Keep your head up and thanks for sharing!
Thanks for your comment, and I’m sorry for your loss as well.
Family has very little to do with biology, ultimately. Your post shows us that, in a lovely & heartfelt way. Thank you.
Very true, thanks.
I’m so sorry. This was so beautiful and moving.
Thanks for reading.
Thank you for sharing the special men in your life. I’m so sorry about their passing away. My dad passed away in 2009, and I was determined to be right by his side at the end, mainly because I was not with my mom when she passed away in her hospice room at 4 AM on a Sunday morning when I was pregnant with my son. I’m sure you will have lots more stories to tell about these wonderful guys. If you want to read my memoir blog about my dad, go here: http://shoulderstothetrees.blogspot.com/ I am probably going to submit a chapter or two around Father’s Day (maybe even finish the dang memoir!). Thanks for the reminder of how special dads are, and godfathers, too.
I will definitely check out your memoir. Bless you through the loss you’ve experienced as well. 🙂
OH. I’m crying so hard I really can’t comment. I don’t even know what to say. A beautiful tribute to both of them….
Thank you 🙂
While I enjoy your comical posts, this post, filled with honesty and truth, was powerful. While you were able to relay the untimely passings of both your “dads”, I felt like you were able to return to that comical place with your conclusion, I mean My Two Dads reference, perfection!
Aw, thanks so much!!
I am choking back tears and then you make me do that snarfle thing when I giggled a little over the midget western. (Yes, I have seen it) I am not a pretty cryer…crier? Whatever, anywho. Chickiedee, this was beautiful. You can maybe relate to this. I have a love/hate relationship with chicken and dumplings. I cooked them and took them to the hospital on the day my Daddy never came home again. I hate Whoopi Goldberg for you.
Oh, sweet Swuzy, thank you girl. Damn whoopi and those dumplins!
I never knew your dad but I remember the day he died. My dad locked himself in the bathroom and cried. I have always remembered that as the first time I saw my daddy cry. He was a great man to hear my dad talk. Mr Charles, I did know. Always with a smile and a joke. I had to break the news of his passing to my dad who lingered on the phone in disbelief. He had lost another dear friend and duck hunting partner. He didn’t go much this year, I don’t think his “heart was in it”. You were very luckily
What a lucky girl you were to have Mr. Charles, and what a special man he was! The way he “took you in” as his own was so kind. This is a beautiful tribute to him.
Thank you. I was blessed to have him!
A great writer always goes with what’s on their heart. Thank you for sharing your triumphs and tragedies with us! I’m so thankful that you had two dads to shape your life!
Thanks so much Sue 🙂