'Cause people let me tell you, it sent a chill up and down my spine, when I picked up the telephone, and heard that he died

Last Tuesday, December 11, my father died. I was at work when I found out. I had been there for a little over an hour when I felt my phone vibrate. I saw that it was my parent's number. I let it go to voice mail and stepped out of the office to check it. As usual, I braced myself for potential bad news before listening to the message, but I expected that it was my father returning my call from Sunday when I had called to check in on him (he had caught a cold and hadn't been up to going to my grandmother's 95th birthday party), but I still found myself tensing up a bit.

It was my mother's voice I heard. "Hi Kevin, it's important you call me back as soon as you can". Fuck. I called her back, knowing something was wrong. "I'm so sorry to have to tell you this over the phone, but dad passed away last night".  She could barely get the sentence out. I told her I was leaving work to see her. I went back to the office and told Marcy I had to go. She was on the phone. "Is everything alright?", she asked, cupping the phone. "My father died", I said, in disbelief that I had just said those three words.. She asked if I was okay to drive. I told her I'd be able to, but the truth was I had no idea about anything at that moment. I was in shock.

The ride to my mother's house is a jumbled, nightmarish memory of sobbing, pleas to God, and pleas to my father to imbue me with the strength to be strong for my mother. I remember the thick anguished wailing - "Oh, Dad, why?...why?.....don't leave me....." - but everything was scattered and stirred up; an awful tempest. There was no order, no structure to my thoughts and feelings. I somehow made the twenty minute drive to my mother's house.

Oh, this is so hard and I need to stop. I'll return, but my grief is still profound and I can barely organize a thought right now. Maybe tomorrow.