Fourteen years ago today (September 10, 1995) I got a terrible phone call on a Sunday morning. I was 22 and had just graduated from college. I didn't have a job and was trying to figure out where life would take me.
My father taught Sunday school in our small town church. At the end of the class, after leading them in prayer, my father had a massive stroke. It was over quickly and peacefully just seven months after my mother died.
I remember throwing some clothes in the car and heading out for the 4 hour drive back home after calling my sisters and giving them the news. I remember Fire and Rain by James Taylor playing on the radio. I remember that it was a beautiful day and the sun was shining. When I got to the hospital my father looked at peace. When I got to the house, Teddy the dog knew that something wasn't right.
It is hard to believe that 14 years have gone by. I was so close to my father, and now I have learned to live without him. He was brilliant, well-read, strong and handy. He could remodel a house or discuss quantum physics. He walked around humming to himself all the time. He always encouraged me, believed in me, and provided me with everything I needed and more. I am thankful that I got 22 years, but sad that I never got to know him when I was an adult, or that the Rock Star never got to meet him.
I miss you!
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