I've had the occasion recently to think back to a part of my life that I have successfully avoided thinking about for years. And it's not that I don't think about it, but I tend to give it the General Overview in my mind - removing a lot of the details:

1. Go to college
2. Met amazing people
3. Stayed during Interim in January practicing for theater production
4. Met my college boyfriend (he said, "You got nice eyes" ... aw.)
5. First weekend in February was theater production of "Into The Woods". I was Cinderella's evil stepmother.
6. My dad died a few days later.
7. I left for the funeral.
8. I came back and tried to attend classes.
9. I needed a new roommate when I came back, and KB let me move into her room. I cried all the time, skipped classes.
10. I left officially in March.

THE END

But not really.

After reminiscing with KB yesterday, I realized just how much I'd repressed. Boxed up and filed away under "Try Not To Think About" and cross-referenced under "Too Painful, Indeed". But yesterday, it was almost as if a vault opened up and this little "beaten down tried to be forgotten" part of my history came flooding back.

I remembered seeing my dad standing in the doorway of my dorm room the day they dropped me off at school, crying, as he said goodbye to me. It's awfully impressive to see a grown man cry, you know. We'd had a rough year before, and I'm sure he was just as amazed as I was that I'd managed to get to college at all. He made sure everything was put together in my room, lingered around, and left. I watched their car pull away and then I cried.

I remembered standing behind the curtains of the stage on opening night (of the play), watching my dad and mom walk in for the performance. One of my friend's came up behind me and said, "Your dad is such a handsome guy!". I can still see him in my mind's eye: reading the program, adjusting his glasses, looking so proud. I felt so proud having him there.

I remembered standing on the stage at the auditorium during choir practice a few nights later, and the pearl on my ring (the one he had given me for my high school graduation) falling off. It bounced down all those wooden bleachers. We searched and searched and never found the pearl. I left practice and went back to my dorm room, called home, and left a message for my dad. I told him I lost the pearl and I was really sorry. I was also feeling shitty about the way I had ended our last phone call. I had been upset with him and hung up on him, all over a phone bill. And he was right, but I didn't know how to handle that then. So I apologized to the machine and asked him to call me back.

I remember then going to my boyfriend's room across campus. He had given me his stuffed half-frog/half-fish that he'd named 'Phil the Frig', because he thought I might need it that night. I was so upset about losing that pearl and that phone call. I went back to my room with Phil the Frig and hoped there was a message from my dad. There wasn't. I thought for sure he must be really upset if he didn't call me back.

The next morning, I awaken to my RA in the doorway of my room. My roommate had already left for her early class. My RA told me I needed to get up, that my aunt and uncle were coming up to school to talk with me. She told me to get dressed, brush my teeth, and told me I could come to her room for some breakfast. We had Cheerios. I watched a montage on the television about Nicole Brown-Simpson, and they played "I Will Stand By You" by the Pretenders. I thought it was such a pretty song.

And of course, I knew something was up.

I was quite sure my aunt and uncle (who lived about two hours from school) were coming to chew my ass about that phone bill. It made perfect sense to me. My parents had sent them up to do some sort of intervention on my phone useage. (God, it sounds so silly now!!)

I got bored, I walked the halls. I ran into my campus minister in the lobby of our dorm. I wondered why she was there. She looked at me the same way. I kept walking. I walked by KB's room. I wasn't living there yet, but I remember passing her door and reading the notes people had written to her on the door board. I walked back to my RA's room and waited some more.

And then ... and then my aunt and uncle walked into the room. And the campus minister was with them. And my uncle was crying. And my aunt said, "HDW, you need to call home".

I remember saying, "Call ... who?"

She said, "Call your mom".

Dear Jesus. What happened? Who was it? My brother. I bet it was my brother. He was also doing stupid things. He'd escaped death twice in a swimming pool accidents (he was in a coma once!). Was it one of my grandparents? Oh GOD. What had happened??

I dialed the phone. Everybody was quietly waiting. No answer. I hung up. I called again. This time, a woman from my church picked up and handed the phone to my mom. I heard a room full of people at my house go eerily quiet.

And the words ... oh man, the words I'll never forget: "HDW, we lost your dad last night".

LOST? No! You can't LOSE a man who was the pillar of strength, grace and love. He was just fine. I had JUST seen him. He wasn't DEAD. There must be some sort of mistake in all of this. God had the wrong person and I'd wake up and this would all be over.

I threw the phone down, fell over and passed out. When I came to, my aunt was holding me and crying (her brother had just died), and everyone in the else in the room was crying. I screamed. And I kept screaming until my voice was raw and my body was limp.

It was 8:00 in the morning on a beautiful winter day. And my daddy was gone.

Coming out into the dorm hallway, the girls were walking out of their rooms to see what the screaming was for. I hated them all. I hated them all for still having their dad's and a normal life and being able to call their dad's at that moment and tell them they loved them.

And what did I learn later?

I learned that when that pearl fell off, my dad had his massive heart attack. And my baby brother tried doing the CPR he had just learned in school days before.

I learned that when I left that message for him, they were pronouncing him dead at the age of 49. My mom was struggling to call my dad's brother, who was too drunk to come to the phone and hear the news. He woke up the next morning, on his birthday, to find out his brother had died.

I learned that my mom sent my aunt and uncle up early to make sure I wasn't alone when I heard the news. It was the one thing I can say my mom did right - she always said she wanted me to have "one last good night of sleep".

Talking with KB brought so much back. It's been hard to think about. It's been a piece of my life that I talked about for years. I wanted to tell that story and I wanted everyone to understand, as if telling the story would make it make sense to me. As if the more I told it, the better I'd feel.
KB told me that she was worried I would hurt myself, but that thought never crossed my mind. I went bareboned into grief and anger. I felt like I had left this little girl at college and left someone else.

I remembered something else, though. I remembered checking my mail at college after he had died, and there was a letter from him. His perfect handwriting. He had written my name and mailed it the day he died.

Of course, it was the PHONE BILL with a note attached that he was sorry we had such a rough ending to our conversation, but he wanted me to know I needed to be more careful, etc.

He signed it "Love, Dad".

And finally, after all these years, I have learned the lessons I was given. I have made peace with this part of my life, and I have found a way to heal. I love who I am today. I know I wouldn't be where am I now, but more imporantly - WHO I am now - without having had this experience.

And that reminds me:

If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies. ~Author Unknown