30 Days, 30 Stories: Story #18
More 30 Days, 30 Stories. Sorry I forgot to post here for a few days. If you head over to my FB author page, you can find stories #16 and #17. Today, it's a true story instead of fiction.
Story #18: An Anniversary
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This time, three years ago, two things happened: I published the Melanie Chronicles as a self-publishing experiment and then, three days later, my dad died.
I got the news of my dad's death on Facebook. My brother couldn't find my cell phone number, so he sent me a private message online. I was at work when I got the news. I'd just finished telling a colleague about my self-publishing experiment when I saw the incoming message. It should not have been such a shock--my dad had been ill for a long time and was suffering from premature dementia and other ailments.
The last time I'd seen him--which had been in September of the previous year when I was in Philadelphia for my annual trip home--he did not remember who I was. When my mother left his room at the nursing home where he resided, he looked panicked and called me by his sister's name. He asked me when was our mother coming back, why had she left us. I held his hand, told him our mother was only going to get us something to drink. There was no point in confusing him more. He asked me about other people--people whose names I didn't recognize. I made up stories for him about these people. He seemed satisfied. He calmed down. That was when I realized I didn't exist anymore for him as his daughter. In his mind, I was his sister. I felt like I said goodbye to my father that day.
But getting the news that he'd died still threw me for a loop. I forgot about my book. It was irrelevant now. I focused on trying to get an airline ticket. I called British Airways and ended up bursting into tears as I tried to figure out how many of my Executive Club miles I could use to defer the cost of my ticket. The ticket agent I spoke to was extremely kind. She took care of everything, kept me focused so I did not screw up the dates for my flights, arranged it so that I could sit on my own on the flight, even made sure I could have lounge access so I could sit somewhere quiet and away from everyone. I'm glad she did. I ended up bursting into tears in the middle of Heathrow Airport Terminal Five. Someone--I think it was a BA rep at the airport--spirited me toward the lounge and made sure I was okay until my flight to Philadelphia was going to board. I thought I would be okay on the flight, but then I started crying again. I think I cried all the way to Philadelphia.
At my father's funeral, the Marine Honor Guard sent him home with a three-gun salute and the ceremonial folding and handing over of the flag. Someone, I think it was one of my cousins, asked me during the wake about my book. I'd stopped thinking about it for so long that I was confused at first. I just remember shrugging and saying it wasn't anything important.
Story #18: An Anniversary
-----------------------------------
This time, three years ago, two things happened: I published the Melanie Chronicles as a self-publishing experiment and then, three days later, my dad died.
I got the news of my dad's death on Facebook. My brother couldn't find my cell phone number, so he sent me a private message online. I was at work when I got the news. I'd just finished telling a colleague about my self-publishing experiment when I saw the incoming message. It should not have been such a shock--my dad had been ill for a long time and was suffering from premature dementia and other ailments.
The last time I'd seen him--which had been in September of the previous year when I was in Philadelphia for my annual trip home--he did not remember who I was. When my mother left his room at the nursing home where he resided, he looked panicked and called me by his sister's name. He asked me when was our mother coming back, why had she left us. I held his hand, told him our mother was only going to get us something to drink. There was no point in confusing him more. He asked me about other people--people whose names I didn't recognize. I made up stories for him about these people. He seemed satisfied. He calmed down. That was when I realized I didn't exist anymore for him as his daughter. In his mind, I was his sister. I felt like I said goodbye to my father that day.
But getting the news that he'd died still threw me for a loop. I forgot about my book. It was irrelevant now. I focused on trying to get an airline ticket. I called British Airways and ended up bursting into tears as I tried to figure out how many of my Executive Club miles I could use to defer the cost of my ticket. The ticket agent I spoke to was extremely kind. She took care of everything, kept me focused so I did not screw up the dates for my flights, arranged it so that I could sit on my own on the flight, even made sure I could have lounge access so I could sit somewhere quiet and away from everyone. I'm glad she did. I ended up bursting into tears in the middle of Heathrow Airport Terminal Five. Someone--I think it was a BA rep at the airport--spirited me toward the lounge and made sure I was okay until my flight to Philadelphia was going to board. I thought I would be okay on the flight, but then I started crying again. I think I cried all the way to Philadelphia.
At my father's funeral, the Marine Honor Guard sent him home with a three-gun salute and the ceremonial folding and handing over of the flag. Someone, I think it was one of my cousins, asked me during the wake about my book. I'd stopped thinking about it for so long that I was confused at first. I just remember shrugging and saying it wasn't anything important.
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