21 years ago tonight, my dad passed away unexpectedly. The following is my account, (I was 15), of the events of that night and thereafter. I’m writing this as a lesson of sorts- of what not to do to a kid, of any age, who has just lost a parent. The scars last a lifetime.

When I heard the sound of my mom’s voice yelling, I assumed it was time to wake up and get ready for school. I was half-way down the stairs and she barely blurted out the words, “Your Pop, (I started calling my dad Pop when I was 18 months old and yes, I could talk at that age), had a heart attack and I’m flying to Summersville.” Nothing registered until I saw two of my dad’s brothers standing in the family room. The next few minutes are a little blurry- I remember my mom looking for her shoes and before she had a chance to put them on, the phone rang. One of my uncles answered, (I later found out my dad’s boss had to make the call), and said, “It’s too late. He’s gone.” And then a scream. Followed by, “What am I going to do, he’s gone.” All I managed to force from my throat was, “Is she going to be ok?” Needless to say, I never received an answer.

The one piece of truth I didn’t realize at the time- I lost trust in a lot of people and more importantly, the chance to heal and share with my mother. The next several hours, family came and went, my mom’s brother and his wife stayed, which is when the worst possible words one can say to anyone, much less a 15 year old kid, were uttered-”It’s your responsibility to take care of your mom, now.”
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