Everything Is Fine!

"Life isn't measured by the number of breaths we take, but the moments that take our breath away."

When I hung up the phone I felt my stomach cave in and I forgot how to breathe. My Mom's screaming echoed throughout the house and down the street. I walked to the front door and saw that the sun was setting and it was slowly fading from a beautiful summer day into what would become the longest night of my life. A few neighbors trickled out of their houses to see what the commotion was about and a part of my mind registered that I should take a moment to reassure them that everything was fine. It was the first of many moments I would pause in my grief to reassure a worried friend, colleague, neighbor, or acquaintance that, yes, everything is fine.

My next phone call to my Uncle Shane proved how NOT fine things were. I don't remember saying much more than, "The coroner called. They said they found my Dad dead on the bike path. Please come, I need you here". I hung up on him and called my Aunt Kristi and said something similar. I stared at the door waiting for someone to come through it; waiting for someone to tell me what to do. My Mom was still screaming and, at times, would pause to mumble 'its not true. its someone else. he'll walk in the door any minute.' I finally walked out of the house, noticed the neighbors still standing outside, and made the hardest phone call of my life. Ironically, as soon as Jennifer answered her phone my brother pulled up to the house with Chardae. So, I took a deep breath and told my siblings that our Dad had died.

Seeing Uncle Shane's red truck pull up was a huge relief! There was someone else there now, I could take a moment to pause. Was this real? Would they really tell us Dad had died over the PHONE? No, it couldn't be real. I had talked to Dad that morning before I left for work. He jokingly told me we would have to do something about my love for smoothies in the morning because it was disrupting his quite time. I told him "I love you! Good luck with your depo and I'll see you later" as I ran out the door with the smoothie in hand. I knew I needed to call my Aunt Coleen and Grandma De but I refused to do so until we knew, with absolute certainty, that Dad was dead. So we sat quietly and waited for the coroner and police officer to arrive at our house. I stood at the door and watched the night fall hoping they would never come but they did and they carried my Dad's bike up our steps and asked to speak to my Mom.

At this point, I still hadn't caught my breath and I still hadn't cried. But as I sat down next to my Mom, Grandpa, Jenn, and Brian to listen to the investigator describe what had transpired I began to believe it was true. When I saw the face of the Police Officer standing by our door I knew it was true. And when the investigator callously dumped an envelope of my Dad's belongings and I saw as his wedding ring roll across the coffee table and onto the floor I knew I had entered a nightmare. I got up, ran to the bathroom, and started throwing up.

There were things that needed to get done and people we needed to call. Once we got a hold of Aunt Coleen we started to focus on calling the New Years Crew and Dad's business partners. Brian and I went across our yard to the Keady's to tell Cathy and ask her to call my Mom's friends. I vividly remember talking to Steve and him asking me, "Kristin, why are you yelling?" I knew my next words would devastate him, "Steve, I am sorry, they found my Dad on the bike path and he is (long pause) dead." Those conversations continued for what seemed like hours and every time I thought I was finished I'd remember someone else who needed to be told by a family member.

Our house slowly started to fill up with people who stood in shock not knowing what to do or what to say. I finally went outside to make the only phone call of the night I made for myself and called Sarah. I stood in the rain and told her about my Dad. She booked a flight to Denver leaving Baltimore within 12 hours of my call and stood by my side for the next week. She also took the responsibility of calling Marice for me and when she called me that night we sobbed into the phone together and said almost nothing; there was nothing to say. But if felt good to finally cry and to know Marice was there.

That night took my breath away. I still have moments where the grief punches me in the stomach and I can't breathe. Moments where I go straight back to the horror of watching my Dad's ring fall to the floor. Moments where I hear my Mom screaming and moments where I feel lost, alone, and just need someone else to be there so I can take a moment to pause. But I also have moments of joy, of laughter, and of gratitude to be surrounded by such a fabulous family and community.

After careful consideration I have chosen to start this blog because I will be more honest about the journey if I write it down because, after all, if you just ask me I'll tell you everything is fine.