21 Days

Twenty-one days ago at this time I was speeding in my husband's car to Grand Forks, with my infant son sleeping peacefully in the back.

Twenty-one days.

Is it possible that much time has passed?

When I got off of work today at 3:00 p.m. I thought to myself, "Three weeks ago at this time I was debating about calling mom and dad." I was dealing with a lot of "grown-up, parent things" at the time. I really, really wanted to call them. But I had just talked to mom the day before and gave her a somewhat unhappy update on health possibilities of my son and I just didn't want to be "Debbie Downer" two days in a row.

I wanted to call them a couple times more from that time until I finally got a call from mom at 7:15 p.m. Funny, I thought, because so often my parents and I would call each other and say, "I was just thinking about you..."

It was the call I've been dreading basically my whole life. I think when you grow up in funeral service, and live half of your childhood above a funeral home, you get an amazing perspective on the frailness of life. I can remember saying from the time I was little that I wanted to go first because losing one of my parents or brothers might just do me in.

I realize now that the urge to call them was God giving me those nudges I get pretty much every day. He talks to me that way, but sometimes I just can't understand what it is that He's telling me. While I thought I was protecting them from my mood, I was really losing out on one last chance to hear his voice and laugh with him about anything and often times nothing.

I hear him: "Jamie Lynne! What do you know?..............Thank you so much for calling me."

I am profoundly sad, along with my mom and my siblings. Rightfully so, I guess. I've experienced a lot of difficult life lessons and even dealt with a lot of loss, but this is so different from it all. It's a hurt that is everywhere and in everything.

I just now finally made it through the hundreds of cards our family received. It was so heartwarming, but yet I still sit here with a swollen face and a tear-soaked shirt. It's overwhelming. It's so amazing to read all of the adjectives that friends, family and even just aquaintances used to describe my dad: sparkling eyes, unforgettable smile, fun, funny, compassionate, professional, well-liked, respected, charismatic, generous, one-of-a-kind, "good, good" man, huge heart...

It's heartwarming to hear such nice things. And I do agree with all of them. I'd add to the list: stubborn, sometimes selfish, talented karoake singer and story teller (even if the stories got bigger as time went on), sappy (cry more at happy stuff than anything!), interesting, prankster, fair, devoted, honest...

Another thing I read over and over is how my dad LIVED his life. So true. Sometimes as a little kid he seemed bigger than life to me. It's incredible, thanks to his line of work, how many people he touched over the years, and how his passing affects so many. And just how many people considered my dad their friend. It is so amazing.

I never truly understood that before now, mainly because he was "my dad" before anything else to me. And as my dad I saw his pride in us kids and my mom, his love for speed and motors and tinkering with anything that was loud, his need for symmetry and straight lines, and so many, many "dad-like" things.

Seeing dad through others' eyes is maybe part of the silver lining to all of this madness. He was special, not just to us, and his memory will live on in many.

The past 21 days are a total blur. In all honesty, I'm not looking forward to the next 21 as I continue to wish I could fix all of this for everyone. It does seem so unfair, to all of us and those who haven't yet joined the family, but especially my Mom who should've had more time for adventures with her best friend.

In the same token, I am thankful that none of us has to get through the next 21 days alone. We have each other, and an unbelievably wonderful collection of family and friends.

"If it hurts you to look back, frightens you to look ahead, then just look beside you. . .he is there."