My dad passed away when I was 18 years old. I will never forget that morning as long as I live. I had just graduated high school a few months before and was now employed at a grocery store, in the meatpacking department. I was still living at home and when I’d left that morning everything was fine, but shortly after my workday started I received a phone call from my mom saying I was needed at home right away. At that point they didn’t tell me what was wrong for fear of me being too upset to make it back home.
When I got home my mom told me that dad had passed away that morning shortly after I left. My younger sister found him; he’d apparently had a heart attack while dressing that morning. My dad was in his sixties at the time so it was a tremendous surprise, though devastating all the same.
I took the passing of my dad very hard, so hard in fact that I believe I may have been in denial; I didn’t think I could face the funeral. The night before the funeral I told my mother that I would not be going; she was very disappointed but didn’t push me to go, as I think she understood what I was feeling.
That night I dreamed that everyone was in the front yard, getting ready to go to the funeral, but I was still in the house. My dad walked into my bedroom and told me that I needed to go to the funeral. I told him I just couldn’t face it, but he said that I should go, that everything would be okay.
When I woke up the next morning my dad’s old hat was sitting on the nightstand next to my bed, and to this day I don’t know how it got there. I asked everyone in the house but no one claimed responsibility for placing dad’s hat in my room.
I felt that dad had paid me one last visit to help me get through my grief. Needless to say, I did end up going to the funeral.
By Cindy G from Colorado Springs
