It’s Been Ten Years . . .

July 13, 2007

since my father died suddenly on this date-July 13th, 1997 – I
remember my husband waking me up from a nap on a lazy Sunday afternoon, and
saying that my dad was in the hospital, that he had had a heart attack.
Little did I know that I would never see my Dad alive again.

We had just been to a wedding the night before, on Saturday night. We
had such a good time. My Mom and Dad went along with my husband and I.  I
remember looking at my Dad across the table at the reception and
thinking how handsome he looked. I wish I would have told him then.

On Sunday, July 13, 1997 – My Dad and my Mother were taking some time
for themselves and strolling through some quaint strip malls in the
early afternoon. My brother, sister-in-law and their four children had just gone on
vacation, so they weren’t even in Texas at the time.  My parents were actually looking
forward to a bit of quiet time and spending the days together just
hanging out for a few weeks, even though they were missing their grandchildren terribly.

My Mother said that they had just left a store and were in the car
driving to another location when my Father told her that he didn’t feel
good. My Dad was driving and they were at a stoplight when he had a
heart attack. I still don’t know how my Mom did it, but she grabbed
the gear shift, put the car in park, ran around to the driver’s side of
the car, lowered the seat and began doing CPR. She said she knew it
didn’t look good – my Mom is an RN. Mom said that finally a young man
stopped and helped her do CPR, but it didn’t work. *tears*

When my husband got the call, we didn’t know how bad it was and Mom said that
she did that on purpose. She knew he wasn’t going to make it, but
wanted my husband and I to get to the hospital safely. When we walked into the
ER, I saw my Mom immediately, bawling, telling me over and over “It
doesn’t look good Karen. It doesn’t look good.” I kept saying that she
didn’t know that yet, that there was still hope. She knew that there
wasn’t.

I remember the cries, the desperation when we heard the doctor say he
was sorry, that they did all they could do. I did know when the doctor
came in that it was not good news. If you’ve ever been in that
situation, you just know, you see the look, you see their eyes, you see
the flat look of no hope. My Dad was 65 years old when he died.

I miss him terribly. We had some tough times in my teenage years, but
as I grew older, I relied on him immensely. There are so many times
that I have cried wishing that I could talk to my Dad, wishing that he
was here to give some much needed advice, that he could see our daughter, that our daughter would know her grandfather, that he would be a part of all of our
lives.

I love you Dad.  I miss you every day.  I will always and forever be your little girl.

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Anonymous: Karen, I have read this blog several times and it's more touching w/ each read. Thank you for sharing your thoughts, photos and feelings. It's truly a great escape to spend time in your blog. Like I told you, it's my daily "soap". You're the BEST!