I have no words.
Well, that is absolutely not true. I have so many words and I just don't know what to do with them all or how to even express them in a way that makes sense.
I lost my Daddy today.
He was only 58.
I figured we had at least another 10 or 20 years before I'd have to go through this and I am not ready. Not ready at all.
I am not in my right mind and I feel like I'm in a fog. I want to always remember this day and the events surrounding it, so I'm going to spew it out here for the world to read.
In all reality, I don't have a journal and can't sleep. So feel free to skip this post if you like, won't hurt my feelings a bit.
Last night, my husband watched the episode of How I Met Your Mother where Marshall's Dad died.
It's all hitting really close to home.
My sister-in-law called me this morning to tell me they'd taken him to the hospital in an ambulance. He didn't wake up last night. He wasn't breathing this morning when my mom went to take a shower.
That's all I knew.
So I sat there and stewed and my thoughts went to places I didn't even want them to go. Like what we would do about a funeral. And what I would wear to a viewing. And what I would sing. And that my sons wouldn't be able to be baptized by their papa.
And I just shook those thoughts off as me overreacting and moved on.
We had just seem him on Saturday.
We'd gone sledding.
We had a wonderful day with my family and basically enjoyed each other's company.
Two days ago.
So I waited to hear anything new and just chalked my worst case scenario thoughts as just that.
Until I got the call. At 10:50 am.
It was my brother on my mom's phone.
He said "Camie, I've got some bad news."
He told me the story...and then said he didn't wake up.
I said "Are you kidding me?"
And I told him I'd be there as soon as I could.
And the remainder of the afternoon is a blur. I picked Izacc up from school. I packed. I folded clothes. I called Izacc's school. I took a shower. I hugged my aunt. I talked to my best friend. I got a bazillion texts. Word sure travels fast. I told my babies that their Papa was in heaven taking care of Zoe. I packed the car. I drove, with my gramma, the 4 hour journey to my parent's house. I had a headache. We had quite a few visitors and lots and lots of food. I helped plan a funeral. I cried a little. I have yet to really realize what's going on. Really.
When we got to my parent's house, my Ian was giving my Mom a hug and kept asking her "Where's Papa!? Where's Papa?!"
He doesn't understand.
I'm not sure I understand.
I still have a headache.
I'm noticing that I'm being strong for everyone else.
I'm not sure how long this will last.
I think about it and become overcome with sadness and I just have to stop and focus on the one task at hand. Pack. Drive. Get kids to bed. Eat.
I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go from here. I've never had to do this before and I am so scared. It's going to be rough. And I'm not okay.
I went into his room and he's all over in there. His hats. His gum collection. His ties. His stupid covered wagon lamp. How can this be real? How can this be happening?!?
My baby, who has yet to really say anything besides "Ma ma ma ma" and "Ba ba ba ba", was in the bedroom with me. And she was on my shoulder facing the other way. And she said "Papa". And I looked at her and she said it again. And I looked at my mom and cried and as she looked at all of us and pointed with her chubby hand towards the last place he existed on this Earth and said "Papa".
I deleted a message from him off my phone yesterday.
I'd do anything to hear his voice, see him, just know he is in the other room snoring.
I miss my Dad.
And I'm not okay.