The Day My Dad Died.

Welcome to my blog. This blog may not be a 'normal' blog, though I am not sure what that really may look like. This blog will share my experiences and insights from my journey with the death of my dad, and the birth of The Visit Box. It may be a little messy, just like my life was when the idea of The Visit Box was born.

I hope you can relate or have a take away from my insights with my walk through grief while creating and bringing a purpose through my pain and loss.

So without further ado - where do we begin? Well, beginning before God gave me the idea for The Visit Box. We begin the day my dad's journey on earth ended.

It was November 18, 2020. Do you remember those pandemic days? With our three children at home, very close quarters maneuvering online school with that 'busy-bored' feeling. There is not much privacy and my husband that worked downstairs had come up and went to our bathroom while I was finishing notes from an amazing zoom meeting with my team for work. I had voiced how I want more clients, and I am here for the team to do whatever it takes to be more of an employee, a team member and the occupational therapist I know I am. My caseload had dipped a little bit, and with my history of depression, I was not going to let it deter me from being a hopeful 'employee of the month'. I was thinking about my PTO hours adding up, and my parents coming to visit us from Indiana when the restrictions lifted a bit. My dad was a walking miracle being cancer free after melanoma and pancreatic cancer.

I overheard my husband tell the kids, “Mom and I are going to be talking in the bedroom and need some time.” I thought that was code for: well....a closet romantic rendezvous for what parents can do in those 24/7 full house pandemic days. But I was wrong. He held my hand differently as he lead me into our bedroom. He wasn't flirty for an afternoon fling, he was quiet. I first thought it was some kind of unexpected bill we had and I was already excited to tell him of the extra patients I would be able to see. But, his hands were  shaking and in our 15 years of marriage, I had not seen this look on his face. He fought back tears, and with a voice shaking as hard as his hands holding mine, he said "your mom just called and babe…your dad has died."

I know I have experienced loved ones dying, but this was different. I thought it was a horrible joke. I love my husband's sarcastic humor, but this was just disgusting. I thought he is going to have to make this up and apologize big time before we have our next pandemic romance rendezvous. Still, I could see in his eyes it was not a joke, as much as he wished it would be. But it truly, realistically didn't make sense. I told my husband, 'No! We were just waiting for COVID to get better, then he was going to come out with mom and see us." We had waited so long since his pancreatic cancer and then COVID to have him come see his favorite mountains, traveling from Indiana. Hector kept saying "I know babe, I know. Your mom and brother did everything they could do, he went to take a bath and his heart just must had given out." I could not truly comprehend it, and I know now they say that your brain somehow protects you from traumatic news, because I still continued to rationalize what I could. But as the afternoon went on, I called my close friends that knew him so well....and had to say 'my dad died'. I stayed on our bedroom floor as the kids came in and heard the news, I sat there buying my plane ticket and then jumping to normalcy in my mind by looking at our carpet and thinking "I should let our dog Lilly out so she doesn't pee on the carpet" I went on autopilot as the hours of the day went into the night.  I told my supervisor the news and still thought 'I can see my new patients through telemedicine visits at the airport.`` I still can be employee of the month and tell my dad. I realize too that it was my brain protecting me from trauma. I slept maybe 30 minutes and got ready for the airport.  I hugged my family and told my husband I'd call with the funeral arrangements and then he can get the plane ticket for himself.

As I got in the car to travel to the airport, I saw an old prayer journal I had. I had rarely driven this company car since I saw my patients through telemedicine. This prayer journal was filled with praises and gratitude for God saving my dad from cancer. I could not believe as Alec Trebeck passed away from the cancer my dad had, and my dad was in the clear. I was God's biggest cheerleader and now my prayer went from "Thank you God" my arms once raised in praise, to now a spiritual cold shoulder. I sensed my habit of praying nauseatingly.  I felt like the ultimate rug pulled from under me and God laughing with the Devil saying "Gotcha!"

I used to have a special prayer when flying. I would pull out my Bible from my carry on and pray The Lord's Prayer and pray for the flight attendants daily life as I listened to them share the safety procedures. But this time, I pulled out the sleaziest tabloid I could find, and put my headphones on to the most non ‘christian’ playlist. There was no way I was going to pray, and I would enjoy falling asleep to some hard rock. I must have been more tired than I realized, as I woke up to someone nudging me to put on my seat belt for landing into Chicago. As I went to take off my headphones, I realized my ‘family’ playlist had started and ‘Elvira’ by the Oak Ridge Boys came on. This song was special as it was one of my first memories of dancing with my dad at a town dance. I had added this to my favorite songs months ago when my dad went into his Whipple surgery for his cancer. I was overcome with a sense of belonging and peace, but quickly I reminded myself of what was true: I trusted God, Dad died anyway, it is just a song now let’s go. I got into the rental car, and punched in the directions for home and picking out dad’s plot at the town cemetery. I deleted that ‘Elvira’ song from my playlist and began driving….

Thank you for reading my first blog of my journey with The Visit Box. Please come back for my next blog for more of the story of The Visit Box.